


It's All In My Head

by scottandstiless



Series: I'm Not Broken [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV), Teen Wolf Fandom - Fandom, teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: Emotional Hurt, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Frontotemporal Dementia, Injured Stiles, Lacrosse, Protective Scott, Seizures, Sheriff Stilinski is protective, Sick Stiles, Stiles Has Issues, Stiles Has Nightmares, Stiles has seizures, Stiles-centric, stiles has dementia, stiles is sick
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2018-07-20 01:27:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 72,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7385482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scottandstiless/pseuds/scottandstiless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the sequel to Somebody's Down on the field. It picks up exactly from where we left off in the previous story. Stiles is left to deal with the knowledge that he has frontotemporal Dementia after suffering from multiple seizures. Thrown in Protective Scott angst, a tired father, and some old friends and we got a story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Something's Wrong

**Author's Note:**

> This is the sequel to Somebody's Down on the Field! I'm so sorry it took so dang long to get this up. I recommend reading that first before this, or else it won't really make sense I guess. Enjoy! Remember, I write this on my phone every time I wanna post. That means there are a lot of mistakes so I apologize in advance, and this is never pre-written, I write the chapters as I go :)

Derek held Stiles' hand, looking as the pain leeched up his arm. The feeling to doing this wasn't as subtle as the pain was before. Stiles had been seizure free for the day so far, the longest he's gone. But knowing Stiles, it won't be long until another attack considering he would most likely refuse to taking that heavy medicine that made his stomach turn and sent ice through his veins. 

Derek sat there, listening into the steady heart beat of Stiles coincide with the steady beats of the machine in the white illuminated hospital room. He was alert, waiting for any certain jump or drop in his condition. Derek was still in awe with the fact that Stiles has two battles to face now, his epilepsy and his dementia. No one knew how far the dementia would progress each day, but everyone knew that Stiles' days were numbered. Poor kid. He's fought through so much only to go out like this, sitting in a hospital bed unable to control his own body as he feels his own flesh and bones deteriorating. Oh my god and his father, his father would never be able to handle this. Derek worried that John Stilinski might started drinking again with all the stress and medical bills piling up. 

And Scott, Lydia, Malia, Kira, Liam, they all have to fight too, for Stiles. They don't wanna lose their best friend but they all know too well that one morning, Stiles might not even remember them. But Stiles is a fighter. He can do this.

Maybe.

Derek found his eyelids drooping as he stared at the clock. It was 8 p.m. How the hell did time move so fast? Last time he checked it was 12:30 at the sheriff's station when Scott and Stiles met with him. When Stiles had the seizure that put him here, that lead the doctor's to his final diagnosis. Derek feels guilty now. But he lets all the guilt and stress take over as he succumbs to the exhaustion and falls asleep, still clenching Stiles' good hand as his right hand still sported that grey soft brace. 

He dreamt something as if it was reality, thinking that what happened was real. He found himself sitting in the same seat but startled as Stiles' body starts to violently thrash around the bed, seizing and stiffing around the muscles. 

"Stiles! Stiles?!" Derek calls out in vain, he tries to step forward but he is frozen in place. He watched as the teen falls prey to his own body. Stiles' legs bent with his knees as they repeatedly bounced up and down as he laid on his back and convulsed. His arms stiffened in the position the were, bent at the elbows as they radically shifted up and down. Stiles' violent actions continued as he loss consciousness, unaware of what was actually going on. Or at least he seemed to be.

"Stiles!!" Derek yelled out as he finally freed from his frozen stature, running to the seizing teenager. He didn't know what to do so he immediately ran to the door, hoping to get Melissa or a nurse to help him. Derek tugged at the doorknob but it wouldn't budge.

It was locked. 

"Help! Somebody help!" Derek yelled out in frustration as he looked out the window, distracted by all the machines going off crazily. He looked out in the hall.

All the lights were off, no one was in sight. 

He looked back at Stiles who was trembling still but he looked lifeless.

"It's a dream." Derek whispered to himself. He looked down at his fingers as his vision started to shift and his world shook. 

"Derek," he heard an echo of his name. 

"Wake up Derek," there it was again. 

"Derek." The voice was a bit more stern, but loud enough to wake Derek up completely as he shuddered, immediately opening up those pale blue eyes. 

"Sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you," Stiles spoke in a coarse whisper, raising his eyebrows against his pale skin. 

Derek shook off his worries. Stiles looked fine, he seemed fine. That's all that matters for now. 

"No, no, I- it's okay," Derek replied, still wondering how Stiles is so modest. "Did you need something? Do you feel alright?" He asked in a caring way.

"No-- yeah I'm fine," Stiles fiddled with his thumbs. He tried to recall what had happened before he fell asleep.

Lacrosse.

Seizure.

Hospital.

Epilepsy.

Derek.

Seizure.

Dementia.

Damn it, the one thing he wished was just a bad dream was real. But Stiles had to accept his fate, there's no running from it. There's no cheating death this time. There's no bad guy to fight off except in his own mind.

"When was the last time you had a good nights sleep?" Stiles asked in a caring way as he looked at the clock, it was 10 p.m. The time before the hospital started to turn off the lights of the lesser hallways but kept the main ones illuminated. 

"I'm fine Stiles," but Derek wasn't. He hasn't slept for days. Ever since Lydia and Scott told him about Stiles' condition he hasn't been able to sleep. He gets awful terrors, sometimes of Stiles, sometimes of his own dead sister, Laura. "You should go back to sleep," Derek reiterated.

"I've been sleeping since I had my first freaking seizure -- I think I'm good," Stiles said, with a bit of a witty smirk. Derek chuckled at the remark. 

"Do you feel sick?" Derek asked, still holding onto Stiles' wrist and leeching pain, but nothing was actually excreted from his body. "You're running a bad fever," he felt the scorching warmth of the teenager's body. 

"Derek." Stiles said almost scolding him, he hated it when people babied him. Especially after stuff that they can't fix. "Seriously I am fine, it's just a headache." 

Derek became silent. First it would be a headache, then pains, then hallucinations, then comes memory loss, and that would be the end of Stiles Stilinski's fate. Derek sighed after a prolonged moment, "Your dad will be coming soon."

"Can't you just tell him to go home? He's always so tired and --" Stiles says, recalling the long nights his father has had within the last week, mainly because of him.

"He's coming, he wants to be here with you." Derek cut him off abruptly. "He needs to be here anyways for approval when they give you the meds." 

"Ugh, they always make me so sick and they are disgusting." Stiles groaned and complained. "Makes me feel like that time me and Scott snuck alcohol in the woods in sophomore year," he started to chuckled without realizing Derek was actually listening. "Oh don't tell dad," Stiles smiled.

Derek missed that goofy grin on his face so he promised not to say anything, he actually found it quite humorous. "I won't," he chucked softly. 

"Did Scott come back?" Stiles said, bringing in a more serious tone to his voice.

"Um.. No, I can't imagine he would leave you though, he'll be here soon, maybe he just needs to clear his head." Derek reassured Stiles. Nobody knows what was going on with Scott, he has been panicking and taking out his frustration on Stiles because he just cares so much. Scott is just too much of a good guy.

"Do you think he hates me?" Stiles says, quietly as he looks into Derek's eyes who was stunned by the question.

"Of course not." Derek said, thinking the answer was obvious to everyone. "Stiles, why would you say that?" Derek could see the expression changed from Stiles' face. There was no more of the giddy smile and goofy eyes, his eyes now looked lost.

"I dunno, a lot of people do. My dad, Melissa, my mom did. She kept saying I was the one who killed her." Stiles said, with out an ounce of sympathy on his face. He seemed to be fiddling with his thumbs without making eye contact with Derek. 

"Stiles.." Derek said, concerned in the apparent lack of self-control. It was like his personality changed completely, or like a mood swing. Derek raised his eyebrows then furrowed them. "You know damn well it wasn't you," he defended.

"It could've. You don't know that." Stiles said, distracted as he twisted the hospital bed sheets. He suddenly stopped as he felt a sudden drop inside his body, as if his blood were boiling.

"Are you feeling okay? Stiles?" Derek called out as he watched Stiles close his eyes after a dizzy spell and bobbed his head to the side.

"Stiles? Stiles!" Derek tapped on his shoulder and shook the teenager's body. He listened in, there's still a heartbeat, everything's good but blood pressure seemed low. He just passed out, Derek realized, thank god it wasn't serious.

Derek kept his hand on Stiles' shoulder until he woke up less than a minute later. Stiles seemed groggy, and his skin was still feverish against his flushed cheeks.

"D-Derek?" Stiles said quietly, realizing there is something going on with himself.

"I'm right here, you're okay, you just passed out." Derek reassured The teenager. Stiles sat up, confused on this weird feeling he's been having. Derek watched every action of his, noticing he was less agitated as he Stiles ran his hands through his own hair. 

A knock on the door startled the both of them, only to find out that it was Melissa.

"I'll be right back," Derek said calmly to a quiet Stiles and left the room.

"Is he seeming any better?" Melissa asked.

"I don't know exactly, he's been having mood swings, like its his personality changing. And he's been passing out quite a bit, maybe it's from exhaustion or I don't know, but no seizures so far, thank god for that." Derek explained.

Melissa became concerned. "I think it would be beneficial if we scheduled for a psychiatric exam in the morning." Derek nodded in agreement. 

"It'd be a good idea to get him started on the medication just to calm his nerves, he's been really anxious." Derek claimed.

"We still have to examine the MRI further before assessing any medication, with his ADHD and the seizures we're kinda stumped on what to do, but the doctors will figure it after talking to John." Melissa reassured Derek. 

And just as the conversation ended, Scott walks in.


	2. I Am Here, Always

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's Continue :) again, this is the second fic in the series "I'm Not Broken" so I highly suggest reading the first work or else you'll be lost. Sorry for this fluff chapter, it's just s little tough getting the story up and running but I promise the story will get better!

Scott walked up, wearing a scornful, yet heartbroken look on his face. He was soaking wet from the rain he drove his motorcycle to the hospital in. The true alpha held his phone up, pointing it at Melissa Derek and showing them the conversation he had with Derek as he approached them.

Now within a foot away of him, Melissa realizes those aren't rain drops on his cheeks, despite the rain outside. They would've been washed out by Scott's helmet.

They wear tear drops.  
Large bulbs full of pain, agony, and sympathy. They were full water drops, but they just looked so damn empty. 

"Is it true?" Scott spoke weakly, striding against the now-wet tiles of the hospital floor. He took a whiff of the air. It stunk of rotten tears and despair, of blood and grueling panic. Melissa held a hand to her chin, and painfully nodded. 

"Scott, I'm sorry.. There's nothing we can do stop it. And we can't give him the bite, his body wouldn't accept it anyways." Derek says the words for Melissa when he sees her closing her eyes as she tried to stay professional. Derek watched as he saw the ever-so powerful true alpha crumble, his emotional state deteriorating in front of his very eyes. Scott's eyes watered until they leaked sorrowful tears.

"We have to do something, he can't suffer like this!" Scott proclaimed with a huff and puff in between as he calmed himself down. He felt the eyes of bystanders in the hall burn on his back. He clutched his hand, fisting it in fury. 

"Scott honey, we can't! I'm sorry, we can't! There's nothing we can do. He's okay right now, be thankful for that." Melissa firmly said as she tried to piece herself and her beloved son together, but she needed him to be strong for his best friend.

For his weak best friend.

Scott was embraced by his mother's warm hands. Derek stood uneasy, he backed off to give them space as he rubbed the stubble that accumulated on his chin from not shaving since yesterday. Scott was wondering where Derek's stone cold personality had disappeared to. Or whether or not it was all just a facade. Or maybe he's just going soft. Or maybe he feels guilty for putting Stiles here today in the first place. 

Or maybe he just really cares for Stiles. 

Scott pulled away reluctantly, immediately regretting it when he missed the warmth of his mother. "I'm gonna go see him, okay?" He sniffles, rubbing as his reddened eyes. Scott gathered himself as he passed Derek, giving him a defeated glare. He slowly crept into Stiles' room, closing the door as it made an annoying creeping sound.

"Hey," Scott said quietly from the door. He cautiously made his way to Stiles' bed and sat down in the chair and pulled it up close. He examined his best friend quickly when he saw he was hooked up to a heart monitor and IV. Stiles didn't look to be in any pain, but he looked normal actually. Aside from the exhaustion, puffy red eyes with dark circles underneath as betraying evidence.

"Hey," Stiles said calmly, looking to Scott awkwardly. "I didn't think you were coming," he tore Scott's heart.

Scott hunched forward, putting his arms on his knees as he folded his hand, wringing his fingers in nervousness. "Of course I would come," Scott looked down at his sneakers that were still wet. He thought of the moment when Derek texted him about Stiles' condition, about how it sent him sprinting out his home and into the roads in the dark of the night during a torrential rainfall. "I am here, I was here, and I will always be here," Scott spoke truthfully. He doesn't know why he's been acting up lately, but he's cleaning up his act because Stiles needs him.

Stiles tossed his body into his side in the bed so he could to talk to Scott. He slipped his good left arm underneath his year and rested on it. Scott felt relieved, because this meant Stiles was getting comfortable because he genuinely wanted to talk. 

Scott gave him a smile when Stiles slightly grinned. An impending silence fell over in the room.

"Hey Scott." Stiles broke it, he's always the one breaking the silence. And that was a good thing. 

"Yeah?" Scott perked his head up.

"When I go crazy--" Stiles started. 

"If you go crazy-" Scott interrupted, causing Stiles to chuckle a little bit.

"If I go crazy, will you promise me to make sure I don't accidentally kill myself. Or anyone." Stiles dimmed the mood on accident, triggering a sad tone in his voice.

"It's not gonna happen, but if it does, figuratively speaking, I will make sure you are safe. I will make sure your dad is well, and I'll make sure you never forget Star Wars." Scott spoke quietly, then lightens the mood with a little humor.

"The intelligence is strong with this one," Stiles replied back, a goofy grin appearing on his face once again. The smile had made Scott form one of his own, because Stiles' smiles lights up the entire room and this is the first time Scott notices it.

"Lydia, Kira, and Liam all wish you well. I kinda forgot to tell them what happened until a few minutes later, but they'll be here tomorrow." Scott explained to Stiles.

Stiles frowned as Scott broke the news that Stiles would be in the hospital longer then he had hoped.

"Tomorrow -- mom said, they wanna run some tests. She said the doctors are confused," Scott continued as he fiddled with his thumbs.

"They should've left that part to me," Stiles spoke with wit.

Scott smiled. "They don't know why you are having all these seizures. Something about the epilepsy diagnosis and the dementia not match up." Scott furrowed his eyebrows, trying to decipher the puzzle himself.

"They're right you know." Stiles says and gets a glare from Scott.

"What do you mean?" 

Stiles pursed his lips slightly, and furrowed his own eyebrows as he tried to recollect something. "To be epileptic is to have at least 2 or more seizures. But technically, Epilepsy is a disorder in the brain where there is an abnormal pattern of nerve cell activity and electrolytes." 

Scott listens in, fascinated with the fact that Stiles knows this. Apparently his ingenious thoughts are not affected despite an attack from his brain. "Wait, so what does that have anything to do with being wrong?"

Stiles sat upright and inhaled sharply when he felt a little dizzy as he bolted upright. Scott looked at Stiles, "You okay?" He asked concerned.

Stiles nodded and then continued to answer his question. "Melissa said I have tonic-clonic seizures, grand Mals." 

"Like Erica did." Scott remembered the horror of holding her in his arms at the gym when she seized, or the time in library where Stiles held her close to him. Stiles nodded.

"Well Lydia said that you get those because of abnormal activity throughout both halves of your brain." Stiles explained, remembering the highlighted text in the medical textbook Lydia examined for him. 

"The dementia affects only your frontal lobe.. Right?" Scott asked, raising his eyebrow.

"I don't know what part exactly, but it's only one part of brain, not both. So really, even after what happened during the game, it's a little bit much." Stiles said calmly as he fought the urge to wince. But Scott catches the attempts.

"He showed you the MRIs.. From how long ago?" Scott watches Stiles twitch his eye.

"A few days ago." 

"I think you might wanna take another one buddy," Scott said, captivating every move his best friend makes. "What hurts? Honestly?" He asks, holding his hand out.

"I've had the worst headache ever since I woke up an hour ago. And I feel irritated, when I have nothing to be irritated about. Like I just wanna hit something." Stiles admits. He had a feeling of compulsiveness lurking in his stomach that made his blood broil. He seemed to lose all sense of what he had just explained in excruciatingly brilliant vocabulary to Scott. Stiles just stopped what he was doing and started to run fingers through his hair, occasionally swiping down on his sweaty, beaded forehead. He spaced out.

Like completely.  
Like more than that time in coach's class when he started talking about chapter 14, Stiles' least favorite -- civil wars. 

"Stiles..?" Scott said quietly as he bounced up, waving a hand in front of Stiles. 

Nothing could pull Stiles out of his trance. 

"Stiles!" Scott called out to his best friend. It was as if he was asleep, or lucid dreaming, as if he were part of another world. Because just like that, his behavior spiked. 

What to do, what to do, - Scott thought. 

Eyes. Glowing. Alpha.

Pack.

Scott stared down at Stiles, looking into his tired, dark ringed eyes, splattered with a dash of honey in the center that sort of twinkled when Scott moved. 

Scott glowed his eyes, a deep crimson red taking over.

Immediately, Stiles snaps out of it.

He was very disoriented and confused, as he lowers his arms, wondering what they were doing anyways. Scott's eyes return to normal. 

Stiles stares at Scott like a poor little lamb who had just seen a wolf murder it's family. 

"I-I'll be right back," Scott announces to Stiles, who seems profoundly lost at the moment. Scott leaves and walks to his mother's office in the waiting room.

"Scott? Honey," Melissa says caringly, caressing his cheek as she cups his face with one hand.

"Mom, he's -- he's not okay, I.. I don't know what it is but its like he spaced out, and then he started acting differently. Then he just came to, like he was in a trance." Scott blabbers on, intriguing Melissa. He continued on to tell Melissa what Lydia and Stiles learned about the seizures.

"I'm going to schedule another MRI tomorrow night." Melissa concluded as she crossed her arms. The fact that Lydia and Stiles went scoured for knowledge made her feel a little bit better. "We have a specialist coming up from L.A. for a psychiatric evaluation on Stiles tomorrow morning. We're just waiting for his dad to come down after work to fill out some paperwork." Melissa explained. She stared past Scott, and at Derek who was in the waiting room. He was sitting down with a cup of coffee in one hand and the other hand was rubbed against his chin stubble as usual. His eyes seemed to drop from exhaustion, but he fought to keep the open. She realized how... Nice.. He's actually become. He actually has a soft spot for Stiles, and Melissa can't find anything but amusement from that. Melissa takes a look at her watch. 

9:04 p.m.

"Well actually, if he's still awake, we could give him the MRI right now before the lab closes." Melissa says as Scott agrees. Scott goes and tells Derek while Melissa informs the lab. After a few minutes, Melissa goes into Stiles' room.

He's hunched back, lying on his right side under the covers. There's a faint whimper coming from him.

"Stiles? Sweetie.." Melissa came in as the door made its unpleasant creak. She came up closer to Stiles, only to find him shedding tears insanely quietly. 

"Hey, hey, what's wrong?" She sat on the unoccupied corner of the bed and plays with hair, flicking the strands that stuck to his forehead up from his skin. 

"I-I don't know.." Stiles whispered quietly. "My head hurts.." Melissa took her hand to his cheek, it was warm, too warm for her liking. 

"It's okay," She wiped a tear and walked to the other side so she was facing him. "Listen Stiles, we need to get an MRI done right now, do you want to do that or not? You can sleep through it if it makes you feel better but we can't give you any meds until your father consents when he comes." 

Stiles nods as sniffles, his upturned nose becoming pink. He wiped at it and realize how ridiculous he was being. 

Crying over a headache Stiles? You've gone soft. He thinks to himself. 

"Okay," he says sheepishly and pretends that he never cried as Melissa prepares something from a bottle and then pulled out a wheel chair.

"If you want help sleeping, I can always give you a sedative. But you should sit in this on the walk down just to be safe." Melissa gives her signature warm smile as she releases him from the heart monitor and IV, which he shouldn't be needing anymore.

Stiles hesitatingly climbed off the bed, and onto the wheelchair. He watched the metal on the wheels spin as Melissa wheeled him down, Derek and Scott following in behind. He found himself staring at his grey socks when he started to feel a little faint. Stiles gripped the handles of the wheelchair and Melissa notices. Stiles knows he's not gonna have any trouble sleeping during the test.

Damn it Stiles, you can't even walk without passing out, hell-- you have to sit in a wheel chair and be taken down like a charity case. You're weak. A voice mirrored his in his mind. 

"You okay buddy?" Scott noticed today, and gets a slight bob of the head as a nod. It's only a few feet farther when Stiles welcomes darkness in the corners of his eyes, succumbing to his exhaustion, a prey of weakness. 

This was gonna be a long night.


	3. The Meds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry! Another fluff chapter! But I had to write this before really getting into it :-)

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Stiles woke up that morning to the sound of machines beeping in the room once again. He rubbed his eyes as his muscles ached badly. A smell of something like hydrogen peroxide and ammonia flew in the air, making his nose crinkle. Stiles tried to recollect last night. Had he passed out? Did he have a seizure? Or did he just fall asleep?

A nurse seemed to be cleaning up some used materials in the corner. Stiles croaked out in a hoarse whisper, "Melissa?"   
The nurse turned around. Nope, not her, but it was a tender older lady who gave Stiles a smile.

"Oh, Mr. Stilinski," Stiles felt good after seeing her smile. "You're up, I'll go get Melissa, she's just finishing up some stuff with your father," The woman continued as she left her room. Stiles watched her leave in those salmon pink scrubs.

Last night, well it was a complete blur. All he could remember is having a queasy feeling, like that time when Scott took him to a high school mate's party and as soon as Stiles entered the door and got a whiff of the air, he was out. All Stiles could remember from the previous night was the walk down to the MRI lab. And a chat with Derek and Scott.

Melissa and John, his father, shuffled in quietly to Stiles' room. Immediately when John looked at Stiles, Stiles grew a big smile, ecstatic to see his father. But, he looked so tired.

And Stiles thought he caused the exhaustion.

He's never really realized how deep his wrinkles at the corners of his eyes are. Or how pale he starts to get with the lack of sleep. Stiles feels incredibly guilty.

"Good Morning, Stiles," Melissa said incredibly cheery. Stiles tried not to be a bummer and he forced a smile back, even thought his spirits had just been brought down.

Melissa and the sheriff stood by Stiles' side to explain what the doctors had examined yesterday during the MRI. John grabbed Stiles' hand, holding it tightly hoping he can give his son some strength. "Okay," Melissa sighed. She pulled out some notes and an image from the testing. "Well, Stiles, originally we didn't know whether it was the injury or something else which bring on the seizures. But now that we've taken an updated test, it seems like the epilepsy is a whole separate impairment from the disease." She explained.

"What.. What does that mean?" Stiles asked wearily.

"It means you were bound to develop Frontotemporal Dementia at any given time. But with the blow to the head, the first seizure set off a domino effect through your entire brain. So when you have a seizure, it's sending abnormal activity throughout all parts, which eventually blocks the oxygen as it does for pain on the nerves. That's why you specifically tend to black out, but there is a high chance of you being aware during them, even a grand mal." Melissa explained. She tussled around until she got out another image.

"Okay, so my question is, can we stop them?" The sheriff itched at his brows. He couldn't stand the thought of Stiles having to live with that burden his entire life.

"The operation for it is too risky, they won't take him in as a candidate, so really our only option is medication and care, the more you know about them and how to stop them, the less worse an episode will be for them." Melissa said. 

The sheriff sighed. "You should tell him about the other part too," He said, causing Melissa to look at him with a disheartened face.

"Stiles, it looks like the dementia is starting to progress, compared to the last one we saw three days ago." Melissa said, seeing his initial reaction was subtle, as if he were expecting it.

Because Stiles was. He had contemplated all of the possible scenarios already because that's what Stiles does. He still wore a tough face anyways. "So.. How much time do I have left before you know?" The question from the still teenager slightly shocked them.

"At this rate, we are expecting 3 years at the most. You've already been experiencing symptoms like mood swings and behavioral changes and compulsiveness. Usually it takes a few years for those to show up. We are suspecting that the dementia itself start developing years ago, but was too small to catch on the Magnetic spectrum of an MRI." Melissa said.

"How bad does it get?" Stiles asked, his eyes full of worry as he looked to his dad he was holding a hand to his face with stress. 

"Symptoms vary. You'll most likely start to develop weaker muscles and slight loss of speech and motor skills. It will get harder for you to even recognize the names of objects and sometimes even your loved ones, memory loss is subjective." Melissa said with empathy. "But we will be here for you every step of the way, okay honey?"

Stiles listened to Melissa. The Words she spoke reminded him of his mother, and her life. Stiles didn't want to end the same way, the same emotionally painful way. He didn't care about himself, but he couldn't hurt his family. Or what's left of it anyways. 

So he simply nodded. He knew exactly what the symptoms were, even the serious ones Melissa had left out. He had done his research after the whole nogitsune thing, just to be safe for times like this. But the time just came a little sooner than he would have preferred. He just needed Melissa to say them, to speak them with reassurance and encouragement to help him.

He was broken.  
And he knew it.

He was like a little glass door, a porcelain doll that some poor kid dropped on the floor after a few rough years, only to watch it shatter in front of his eyes. Maybe, Stiles thought, maybe if he wasn't so defensive and stubborn, people could put the pieces back together.

But the pieces-  
They just don't fit anymore.

Stiles rubbed a hand down his face. He was determined not to let this down though. He stared at the white sheet covering half his body as an awkward silence looked over.

Melissa sighed and broke the serenity. "Anyways, we're gonna get you set up with the medication before you meet with the psychiatric specialist in a few minutes."

Oh yeah. Stiles forgot.

They actually payed someone to ask him ridiculous "what do you see here?" questions while holding cards of blotched ink to measure his amount of crazy. 

Melissa looked at the sheriff then Stiles as she went through each little bottle in her hand. "Okay, so this -- anticonvulsant; to treat epilepsy. It should also help you with the ADHD anyways. Take 1 pill a day, they are pretty heavy so you should take them before you sleep. There are always risks with these types of medicine so if you have any extreme pain, or side effects I.e. Hallucinations or vomiting, you should immediately stop it and come here. But let's hope for the best." Melissa gave a soft smile and put down a small bottle on the table near her. Another small, but similar bottle followed.

"Alright this, it's diazepam. Stiles, this stuff is not to be used lightly, it's what we call Rescue medicine. It's for when you need immediate help during an emergency seizure, whether it's in a incredibly hazardous place where he could injure himself, or if a seizure lasts longer than 5 minutes or he has several repetitive seizures within a time slot. You place it either under the tongue or up against his cheek and it will work. It's only to be used during emergencies because of how strong it is. Even when you do use it, you should always call for help because it's been known to drop heart rates and if taken more then once, death. Not to scare you or anything," Melissa said, but Stiles was. He was overwhelmed by this knowledge, he couldn't do this. He can't deal with this, not now, not ever, and he's sure as hell his dad can't either. He watched Melissa put the rescue medicine in a small little red box. It definitely stood out to Stiles' wandering mind. But he was so incredibly nervous about it, or about having to use it In an emergency. Stiles was also afraid of how everyone would treat him. "Oh, don't insult the fragile little boy, or else he has to take meds to calm himself down." Stiles just kept thinking about endless insults at school, "what, are you off your meds today?" His brain should stop psyching himself out.He didn't want to burden his father.

He didn't want to burden his father.

Stiles didn't even notice his fingers trembling until his father quietly asked him if he was okay, and then continued on to grasp his son's shaking hand.

"I'm-im not sure that there going to assign any treatment for mental aid per se, but we will see after the evaluation. Which he should be here in a few minutes. If everything goes well, then hopefully we can release Stiles today." Melissa grinned when Stiles looked up at her.

He hoped so too. 

"Oh and just one more quick thing, um school-- I've called already. They said they are willing to give him as much time needed to recuperate unless you would like to pull him out. They said that if he is unable to go to school, then they can set up online courses and then bring in an at home administrator for the SATs and Finals. That way, he can still graduate with his class. Oh and, like last time, no showers unless someone is there, oh and no driving either," Melissa explained full heartedly. The sheriff appreciated the efforts though.

Stiles perked up. No more of his beloved jeep?

"Apparently there's a state law in which you have to be at least six months seizure free to drive." She looked sympathetically.

"Sorry kiddo," his dad gently said. "I know you love the thing. But hey, maybe while its in remission, we can get it fixed up at the shop while its not in use." Stiles felt his dad trying to make things better.

It wasn't working.

"Do you think Scott's coming today?" Stiles asks sheepishly of the both of them.

"It took me an hour to convince him and the others to go to school." Melissa chuckled. "The girls are coming today, Liam too. And Derek." 

oh.   
Huh.

Stiles doesn't know how he feels about Derek. Nobody does. Nobody really knows anything about him either. He's a 22 year old alpha werewolf prancing around town in a cammaro who feels guilty about his dead family and was left to his psychotic uncle who was killed, not once, but twice and seems to still be alive, all while mastering is keen fashion sense of Henley shirts and that worn out leather jacket, the guy still managed to intimate half of Beacon Hills. Derek, Stiles thought, huh. It could be its own adjective. But he wasn't so subjected to seeing Malia, Kira, and Lydia. He doesn't really know what status he's in with Malia, but he hopes she doesn't hate him right now. And Lydia, oh how he missed her strawberry blonde hair and green eyes. And he can't wait to see Kira too, before she leaves to go back with the skin walkers, AGAIN. She told him and Lydia and Malia, but hasn't figured how to break the news to Scott. 

Weird.  
What a weird group of friends. 

Melissa soon left, the pill bottles were also gathered into a bag for their ease. 

A knock on their door came and John opened it immediately. 

A tall, classy looking male with slicked back dark hair who wore a doctor's coat came through, greeting the father.

"Hi, John Stilinski," He gave a courteous smile and shook his hand with his model grip.

"Hello John, I'm Dr. Hayes," he says, with a surprise he has a British accent, which Stiles thinks is cocky because he just knows this is the type of guy that girls at school fawn over. The swift doctor walks over to Stiles who has to pretend he's not jealous of a grown man and covers up with a smile and shook his hand. "You must be Stiles."

"Nice to meet you," the teen replied. Stiles thought that maybe if he just squinted hard enough when he smiled that Dr. Hayes wouldn't notice his dark eye circles, despite sleeping for almost 12 hours last night. 

"So, as your doctor recalled what we're going to do is go through a psychiatric evaluation. Basically it just measures what weaknesses there are, and what functions could be affected with your specific condition." The young man went through a bunch of reports in which Stiles saw each page as he flipped it over the board. It was all the symptoms on his record, ever. Including when he semi-lost his mind junior year. Stiles kept eyeing his father, apologizing in his mind in advance for what he's about to discover -- his poor little boy is delusional.

The doctor turned around when he noticed the anxiety in the room. "Hm.. Mr. Stilinski, we find that the patient tends to be more.. Ambitious and accurate when no parents are around." The doctor gave him his cheesy white pristine smile as a cue to leave. Thankfully, the sheriff got the hint and left to go see Melissa. 

"Alright, let's get started," he said, pulling his chair over and close to Stiles' bed.


	4. Dr. Hayes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found some of this dialogue to be quite amusing to write. Hope you enjoy! I still feel like this is fluff, but as you read further chapters there will be actual plot I promise. By the way, there is a season 2 (I think or S1) reference in here buts it's parallel to Lydia and Mrs. Morell. Also, sorry if any medical information is inaccurate, the Internet can only do so much but I have done my research. Also! This fic does not act as a guide, If you do take these types of medicine, then please don't use any knowledge based off this because there is a chance I'm wrong (95% xD) please speak with your doctor and don't Make any decisions bass off my writing. Thank you, stay safe :)

Dr. Hayes flipped through a couple of pages as Stiles studied him. Stiles felt incredibly anxious, he wished his father was actually here. But he secretly was glad he wasn't in the room so Stiles wouldn't embarrass him.

"So.. I'm just looking at your medical records here" the doctor started. Oh no. Then Dr. Hayes stopped. He must've found something.

"How's your ADHD, Stiles?" He asks.

Stiles stuttered. "Uh--um it's.. It's not that bad anymore I guess, I don't really have a hard time reading as much as I used to I guess," Stiles was very uneasy, that queasy feeling started to settle in again.

"Are you still taking adderall?" He asked.

"I stopped when the seizures came. Something about causing them." Stiles admitted. Now he realized why he was so restless, why he couldn't focus anymore, why he's so.. Off. Maybe. At least that's what Stiles thinks.

"Well, they do come strong so I understand that." He started flipping through pages as Stiles started to crack his knuckles in anxiousness when he realized that there was no longer a brace surrounding his hand that didn't hurt anymore. Dr. Hayes seemed to notice. He cleared his throat and asked more questions. "What about your anxiety? Are you-- are you still struggling with that?" 

The dreaded question, because Stiles wanted to say no. He wanted to say no so damn bad, but the answer was yes. "Yeah.." Stiles pauses for a moment. "Panic attacks too." Stiles admitted. He cracked more knuckles. Stiles hated the noise but it always seemed to calm him down.

"Did they start suddenly or does there seem to be a cause, a trigger?" Dr. Hayes asked as he took notes.

"Um no, no, they started after-" Stiles couldn't finish his sentence. He felt a sudden urge in his gut.

That queasy feeling was the anxiety bubbling in his stomach, boiling in his blood. Stiles found a second to space out, as if all sounds around him seemed to blur, like he was a foot in underwater.

He snapped back into reality after a moment.

"Take your time Stiles," Dr. Hayes said softly.

Stiles shook it off, like he did to a lot of things. "Sorry," he cleared his throat. The annoying feeling still lurked. "They started after my mom died, but I-I still get them because of other things too." He admitted.

"Care to elaborate?" Dr. Hayes raised his eyebrow to make an arch.

Stiles' adolescent life flashed in his mind.  
Starting with that night he took Scott into the forest.  
Kanimas.  
Werewolves.  
Banshees.  
Darachs.  
Nogitsunes.  
Berserkers.  
Chimeras.  
Dread Doctors.  
What's next?  
His life is a home made horror story. 

"I'd prefer not too," Stiles seemed skeptical.

"Have you ever dealt with loss?" He asked gently.

No. Stiles is the only person in the whole god damn world who hasn't dealt with loss because the universe loves him and never screws him over.

But Stiles just nodded. "More than I'd like," 

"What does it feel like when you have one, a panic attack?" The doctor asked with his ever-so cheesy accent.

Like death. Stiles wanted to say. He felt like he was dying and being brought back to life which he's already done anyways.

"Like I can't breathe, my chest starts to hurt and I feel like I'm going to pass out and like I'm.." Stiles explained but then paused.

"Like you're going to die?" Hayes finished. Stiles nodded. "Well it's normal for a symptom, the intense feeling of impending doom.. Really, the simplest way to stop the anxiety is to find the cause and relax through out. Just take some breathing rituals, focus on getting your heart to slow down." He took a pause as well as he seemed to rummage through a file. "Everything alright at home? School? Friends?"

Stiles turned very skeptical of this man now. What kind of doctor would ask him that? "Yeah," he gave a one worded answer as well as the raise of an eyebrow. His fingers produced another knuckle crack sound.

Dr. Hayes picked it up once again. "Nervous Mr. Stilinski?" 

"Old habit. And it's anxious." Stiles corrected him.

"It says here you've suffered from multiple night terrors and insomnia in the past week." Dr. Hayes scratched his head as he read off the notes. He picked up on Stiles' dismissive attitude compared to the tender approach he just used.

Mood swings.

Stiles saw him write it down.

"Are you feeling any lack of wanting to do things you used to love, or found yourself in a distressed state?" Dr. Hayes continued without giving Stiles a chance to answer.

"Well I mean the hospital isn't exactly my favorite place," he explained the terrors. Dr. Hayes rose his eyebrow infamously once again. "Bad memories." Stiles' mouth popped with the pronunciation. "And uh.. I've been either asleep or unconscious for the time I've been here so not much to do.." Stiles said suddenly with a snarky attitude. 

Dr. Hayes perked up, a little shocked of the dismissive reply. He sighed when he came to a conclusion. 

"Do you otherwise feel sad, or lost? Do you sometimes just have moments where everything is fine but you just feel awful?" He asked as he continued writing.

Stiles listened the man explain how he's feeling completely, accurately. "I guess." He didn't wanna come off too strong. 

Dr. Hayes bustled through the notes again. After a brief moment of silence, Stiles started to think. He closed his eyes thought about what his father was gonna do, what Stiles was gonna do, what his friends are gonna do. Stiles is gonna die, they all know it. It's only a matter of time. The silence drops again when Stiles doesn't hear Dr. Hayes shuffling through paper. That's when Stiles realizes he just said everything out loud.

Shit.

The doctor glared at Stiles who gave him a blank stare in return. He then pulled out a card with an ink blotch. Of course, live it to the creepy doctor dude to completely drop below Stiles' expectations as a professional. 

"What do you see here Stiles?" Obviously he asked.

He just had to ask.

Stiles took a look. It looked like a blotch of ink.

"Like a blotch of ink." Stiles sarcastically replied. The doctor did not seem amused as he sighed. Then Stiles took another look. This time he saw a blotch of ink, running down the page. To the right of it was a blotch that was sort of triangular, and it was connected to the circular blotch by a thin line. To the right of the triangle was a thin line of small drips. Stiles put it all together, it looked like a human launching something.. Something triangular with a stick maybe? What is it..

A bow and arrow.

Stiles feels like he was punched in the throat. "Allison," he whispered a bit catatonically.

"Sorry?" The doctor had heard it. 

Stiles got flustered. "Um.. It-- it looks like an archer." 

Hayes turns the card to himself. "Huh,excellent," he then holds up three more boring ones, a tree, a face, and then a moose. Only one seemed to strike Stiles' interest after those.

"Okay, last one." He held up one. 

Instantly Stiles saw it, he knew exactly what it was. It was so perfectly undeniably figured to be anything else. But he just couldn't say it.

"Um." The usual hesitation came out of his mouth first. "A bird." 

Dr. Hayes turned to card to himself again, like the last 4 times. "Hm. I would've said wolf." But again, Stiles gave him a look, because he just didn't care much for the British sleaze, but he didn't seem to notice. "That's alright though," He packed his papers up. 

Stiles felt an inferno by now burning in his stomach. Butterflies swooned, it felt like the butterflies themselves were drowning inside him. He suddenly felt depressed and solemn, contrary to his previous, snarky, perky remark. Stiles suddenly felt all the hours of forced sleeping set in at once, he swore could feel the bags under his eyes forming. All his adrenaline that had kept him going was gone.

Dr. Hayes pack up his files. "Well, Mr. Stilinski, thank you for your time. It was nice meeting you." He forcibly shook Stiles hand and left as quickly as he could. Stiles watched him out the window talking to Melissa and his father.

"Well Mr. Stilinski, Ms. McCall," Dr. Hayes announced. 

John turned to see Hayes puffing out air from his face, as if relieved or stressed. "Uh oh. I hope Stiles was not a smartass," he muttered to Melissa who chuckled.

"Stiles seems to be suffering from added-on anxiety and mood swings, common symptoms of Frontotemporal Dementia. How does he seem at home?" Dr. Hayes asked.

"Off the walls." John Stilinski replied. "He's usually really hyper when you know, he's feeling it. But uh.. He still struggles a little." The English man nodded in understanding.

"He looks extremely tired albeit," the doctor read his notes over. "He said he's been sleeping,"

"We've been giving him medicine to help him sleep, due to certain circumstances," Melissa stepped in.

"Night terrors." Hayes corrected her, because he knew. Like he knows everything. "As he progresses further, insomnia may eventually be accustomed. I assume you can give him any prescription that's already been given. With that said, I've written a prescription for Zyprexa." This causes Melissa to raise an eyebrow, the sheriff too when he realized what that was.

"Olanzapine?" Melissa doubted the doctor.

"Antipsychotics?" The sheriff said, not believing it. "You wanna give a kid with ADHD and seizures antipsychotics? Isn't that the stuff I find teens overdosed off?" John did not approve. Stiles watched him through the window, wondering what he was so upset about since he couldn't hear any actual dialogue. But then he saw Melissa try to calm him down as she put a hand on his shoulder. Stiles could clearly make out the words "No way," from his father's lips. Because obviously Stiles could read lips. Only he would.

"I understand your concern Mr. Stilinski, but if taken once a week with one dosage of a pill, then it could potentially relax Stiles. His seizures might also benefit since stress and distress seem to trigger them." Dr. Hayes explained. Finally, after 2 minutes of bickering, the sheriff reluctantly admits a a package of the prescribed drugs. The hated pyschratist finally left. Stiles could imagine him using his best Benedict-cumberbatch/Sherlock British accent to sweet talk the lovely lady at the front desk, who was frankly too out of his league, even for him. 

The sheriff sighed and thanked Melissa for all she's done. "Honestly, with all these meds I'm kinda worried Stiles is gonna end up here for a different reason then seizures." He tried to subtly cover his worried with a slight chuckle.

Smooth Papa Stilinski.

"Well, now that you can take him home, just give me a call anytime. Really. On my break I'll drive by to see how he's holding up." Melissa gave her famous genuinely beautiful smile. She ended the conversation when she saw the sheriff tear up and embraced him for a longer period.

Stiles watched through the window, seeing every time. He felt all 'warm and tingly' on the inside watching them share a moment.

"It'll be okay," Melissa reassured John as they got themselves together and entered Stiles' room.

Melissa wiped at tears from under her eyes before saying, "Stiles, honey get ready, you're gonna go home."

"Yes!" Stiles' face brightened from the usual grey tone from ever since he stepped in this hospital. "Get to finally leave this hellhole," he muttered as he got up. Melissa glared at him.

"Um.. Deja vu? Sorry?" Stiles said as Melissa chuckled sweetly. 

Stiles was given a pair of pants and a hoodie along with his favorite Adidas sneakers which he changed into and out of that unflattering hospital gown. Stiles came out back to the room and saw his father packed with everything and ready to go.

"There's my son we now and love," The sheriff said when he saw Stiles smiling for the first in days. The sheriff turned out the hall when Stiles realized that this feeling wasn't going to last long. He's going crazy, he thought.

He's just a little manic.

Stiles felt Melissa's hand on his back as he headed out the room. "Take care Stiles, and please tell us if any thing is wrong. Okay?" She looked at him with sympathetic eyes. Stiles nodded back with an uneasy look as they said good bye. 

Stiles caught up to his dad who was already next to the exit in which Stiles held the door for him. "Geez Dad, you been working out?" He tried to chuckle, but he couldn't get anything out so he just smiled and tucked his hands in his pockets. His father replied with a hearty laugh.

They soon got in the car together and John started to drive. The radio was turned on but John put it down. Stiles knew he was gonna actually try talking to him. Damn it. 

"So.. Uh Lydia, and Malia, and Kira, Liam, Scott, Derek" His father listed the names off, "they're all gonna try to visit today if you want. If not, you know we could always say another time," his dad looked at him for a split second and then back on the road. 

Stiles thought silently for a good two minutes. He really didn't feel like seeing anyone. Like at all. Maybe only Scott. And maybe Derek. Because they both stayed the other day so he kinda felt like he owed it to him. But Stiles was tired, truly exhausted. Like I said, the adrenaline just wasn't there anymore.

"Um, actually dad, I don't know. I'm kinda really tired." Stiles said. The eye bags he had said it all. His father nodded.

"That's okay, just-- how about you just rest today?" The sheriff said as he looked on the clock and date on the dashboard. 

Wednesday. 10:42 am.

"We'll just keep you outta school the rest of this week and we'll catch you up the next. I mean it's not like it's finals, right?" His father asked.

Stiles shook his head. At least now he got to sleep without having to do it in class with oblivious teachers. Stiles slumped his head against the window. There it was again.

The pain in his head that would make anyone wanna cry to their mother. Stiles groaned at the thought of having to take all that medicine. "Maybe if I sleep, I'll feel better" deemed to be the only thing that keeps Stiles going.

"Really Stiles- Are you okay son? Was it too early to leave?" His father asked worried.

"No.. M'fine" he slurred his words. "Just tired" 

He's just really damn tired.


	5. Breakfast at Friendly's

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoyed writing this chapter because of the setting haha. Sorry for mistakes! Like I said, I write these chapters one at a time as I go, they are not pre-written and I type them on my phone. Enjoy :-) comments and kudos are appreciated cry much!

It started to rain during the car drive. Stiles watched the water drops race down the window. A million thoughts competed with the raindrops, racing through his mind like a nascar driver completing the Daytona 500. He started to crack his knuckles as the nervous, queasy feeling started to come back. 

The sheriff used one hand off the steering wheel to give Stiles the bag. "Hey kid, you should probably start that medicine today. Just take one pill from the small white bottle." 

Stiles reluctantly took the bag and opens it, peering overhead to look at what he's received. There were three bottles, only one of which was in a red box and inside the bottle itself was marked with a red dash. The other two bottles, one was white and the other was a slightly grayish tone, but all too similar to the white. Next to it were pamphlets on epilepsy and Frontotemporal Dementia of which Stiles has seen before in the house. The greyish bottle had a warning label underneath words ANTIPSYCHOTIC that Stiles read. Something about overdose and fatality when taken more than prescribed. A small water bottle shook around with every pothole his father swerved around. Stiles picked up the white bottle, reading the words ANTICONVULSANT on the label, with Carbamazepine underneath it. He, unusually slowly, twisted to cap and saw all those little white tablets that made his head turn. He closed his eyes and swallowed one down his throat with a slug of water. Stiles almost instantly felt it coursing through his veins.

"You feel okay?" His father kept his eyes on the road.

"Still like shit, dad," Stiles replied. The language deemed a little haste for his father's liking. But Stiles accompanied it with an awkward chuckle, that was too inappropriate for this situation. The sheriff gave him a concerned look. 

The rest of the car drive was welcomed with silence. The sheriff was about to pull into the driveway when he pulled a sharp left.

"Where are we going?" Stiles asked prominently, disappointed he wouldn't be in the comfort of his own bed anytime soon.

"We, are going to get some breakfast." The sheriff smiled while looking towards to window for any incoming cars. He proceeded as he continued to talk, "you haven't had a decent meal in a while so why not?" 

Stiles felt himself sort of defeating the previous overwhelming feeling of anxiety. But it slowly started to come back with the farther they drove. Soon, his father parked the car at a Friendly's in downtown Beacon Hills and hopped out. Stiles came out and followed him. He fumbled out with his phone and turned it on to see missed texts from Scott and Lydia, plus dozens of "get well" messages from kids at school who he hasn't talked to since junior year.

Scott: Sorry we couldn't make it yesterday bro, I'll swing by after school? only if ya want.

Lydia: Hope you're doing better! I can't visit til later, I'll come w/Scott, Kira, and Liam.

Stiles fidgeted with the phone in his hands, and then decided to put it away in his pockets where he wouldn't have to worry about dropping it because of his trembling fingers. The two entered the restaurant that was actually pretty empty, just how Stiles liked it. In the corner booth was an elderly couple and to the table next to them was a woman her young son who looked to be 4 or 5. 

Frankly, Stiles was excited to eat some delicious eye candy waffles, but his body just wasn't feeling it. And it sucked that his body chose this day to do that. 

"Hi Honey, what would you like?" An older woman came to Stiles and John almost as soon as they sat down. She wore a name tag that said "Sandie," and she looked like she popped out of some 50s inspired Modern fashion magazine.

Stiles hesitated for a while. He could literally feel the states of the woman and his father on him when he looked up from the piece of paper. Finally, he ended up ordering his usual Belgian waffles and then she got the same answer from his father, who also ordered a water. What was weird, was that Stiles had already known what he was going to order since his father parked the car. 

"Would you like any drink?" Her sweet voice asked. The woman was impressively patient.

"No thank you," Stiles said meekly. That's when the sheriff held up two fingers, signaling the woman to get two waters. She went off to fulfill the order and left the two to themselves.

Stiles felt restless, his knee was jumping up and down erratically underneath the table. His long fingers tapped to a fast steady beat on the table as he looked around. Hues of red and pink flushed around his cheeks and a darker ambiance of fleshy grey tones surrounded his eyes and the rest of his skin. 

Indecisive. Check. - The sheriff kept a mental note.  
Apathy. Check.

Stiles' fingers continued to shake on the table until his father laid his hand over his. Stiles perked up, meeting his eyes with his father's as his hand came to a stop. At the counter over, the waitress, Sandie, was watching them closely. 

"Are you good kid? You took the medication right?" John asked as Sandie listened into the conversation.

"Yeah, for the-- the seizures, the Topamax I think it's called, not the Zyprexa," Stiles said, remembering the name Zyprexa was for the antipsychotic prescription. Sandie seemed a little surprised, but continued to eavesdrop. "Dad, I don't know if I can take those, the antipsychotics, that's the kind of stuff kids at school die trying to get high off of." Stiles admitted. Sandie decided that she had to end her spying when she had to give the orders to other customers.

The sheriff looked at Stiles. It was then when Stiles realized again how deep his wrinkles were, not deep because of his age, or appearance. But deep because of all the worry, all the tears, disappointment, and all of the exhaustion. "You don't have to take them if you don't think you can Stiles. We'll-- we'll get help, we'll only use them in an emergency." He reassured his son. "Maybe we could try therapy."

Sandie came a little closer with a tray of two plates and two glasses of water. "I.." Stiles paused for a second. "I don't wanna do that." He recalled his last encounter with the so called 'psychiatrist'. Stiles seemed to get distracted with a grooving on the table. 

"It really could help, there was this one man after we served in the army, PTSD, we see it all the time, he seems a lot better--" John watched Stiles tangle his fingers in between his hair.

"Dad, I don't want to!" Stiles said in a tone that sent shockwaves, it wasn't loud enough for the other customers, but he had bursted just as Sandie had come. Stiles was just irritated at this point, then he realized what he had done when Sandie and his father glared at him. The waitress put down the food on the table.

Stiles looked at his father with wide eyes, clearly apologetic for what had just occurred. "Sorry," John sucked in his pride and apologized to the witnessed waitress, who knew a little more than she should. 

She gave him a warm smile back, "oh no, it's totally fine," she said sweetly. "I'll be back in a while with the bill." She left them with somewhat of an understanding of Stiles. But, she didn't want to embarrass him at all, so she patted herself on the back for being sincere.

Irritated. Check. - The sheriff made another mental note.

It was a silent four minutes when John realized that Stiles was just twirling the fork in between his fingers. He held his right arm that was previously injured up on the table, the elbow leaning on the surface with his hand clenched in a fist and tucked under his cheek.

"Stiles.." His father said quietly.

"Sorry," Stiles apologized for his outburst.

John ignored the apology. He knew it wasn't him talking, it was the disease, so why should Stiles apologize for something forced out of his mouth?

"You haven't touched your food," The older man said, as he took a sip of his water.

"Not hungry I guess." Stiles mumbled in a moody tone, sounding a bit depressing and low.

"Are you not hungry or you can't eat? Stiles, you haven't eaten any real food since last week. Please just try." The sheriff said solemnly. It was true though. For the last week, Stiles has lived off water, pain killers, sedatives, and the occasional bite of a cookie from the hospital cafeteria's "food."

Stiles nodded his head. The least he could do was try it. His dad did go through a lot of trouble to get this week off, and taking him here to his childhood restaurant was just the cherry on top. Stiles just wished he had the energy to enjoy it. He slowly cut the waffle into a small piece, watching the knife move cautiously. He put a piece into his mouth and forced himself to chew it. As soon as he got the feeling on his taste bud, memories started to come back. It's that feeling when you drive by a familiar place, an old hangout, or smell a specific scent like your mother's perfume she always wore, or the taste of childhood memories. Stiles remembered the time when he, His dad and his mom came here for the first time and Stiles got so hopped up on sugar that everyone ended up covered in whip cream that day. A small smirk appeared on Stiles' face when he thinks of that.

John smiled back and continued his breakfast. Sandie sat at the counter where she worked, and found herself smiling when she saw Stiles was happy.

After a couple more bites, Stiles pulls out his phone and looks at the texts he received.

Scott: Free period. What's up?

Stiles hesitated for a second when his father noticed.

"Did Scott talk to you at all?" His father asked, trying not to look at his phone so he wouldn't invade his personal space.

"Um y-yeah, a couple of texts, but I haven't really gotten around to answer them. I don't know, it's not like I'm ignoring him right?" Stiles stutters as he stared at the text, another one coming in.

Scott: Hey, I don't know if you're getting these but please just get back to me, just wanna know your okay.

Stiles sighed. "Just got a lot on my mind, that's all." He shut his phone off.

"Well, I mean maybe if you just texted him that you were okay, and that I said it'd be okay if he wanted to come over, if you want him to." His dad cleared his throat.

"I think I'll just go with the first part," Stiles said as he forced himself to eat one more last bite of his waffle, only to leave half of it remaining. John raised his eyebrow. 

"Why don't you want him to swing by?" He asked.

"I don't want Scott to see me like this at all." Stiles claimed, pushing the plate in front of him to single he was finished. 

The sheriff was a little disappointed that Stiles didn't finish, because it was important that he ate, but at least he got through half. "See you like what?" John posed a follow up question.

"Crazy." Stiles admitted.

"You're not crazy Stiles," his father reassured him.

"Yeah you're right, This is me normal because I'm legally insane." Stiles cracked.

"It's not you Stiles, you know that damn well," his father confessed. It wasn't him, it was the illness, but Stiles was too stubborn see that. He watched his dad run a hand over his face, the way does when he's tired or frustrated. With all this time in the hospital, it's given Stiles time to practice on his observation skills. "Are you finished? Do you wanna go home?" Stiles nodded when he asked. The sheriff called out to Sandie, who passed by. "Excuse me, we'd like a bill," he have a smile and she gave one back before leaving to get the slip. 

"You can go to the car if you'd like, I'm just gonna pay and I'll catch up. Maybe talk to Scott." John suggested and Stiles reluctantly agreed and left. 

John met up with Sandie. 

"That'll be $11.95" Sandie gave him a slip to sign with her welcoming warm smile. The sheriff took it and started to fill it out. "Was that your son?" She tries to make small talk.

"Yeah.." He pursed his lips in a way that came out as a smile, it seems like that's all he's capable of doing. "He's been-- on edge lately, I thought bringing him here might cheer him up." The sheriff dug in his wallet for a twenty dollar bill and handed it to her. 

The waitress handed him his exact change. "Well, I certainly hope everything is well." There it was again. That smile.

The sheriff grabbed the change and added $10. "Here, your tip," He said. He at least owed to her for what happened earlier. Plus, he was sure that she charged him less then she was supposed to.

The woman looked almost surprised. Hey, guys with unstable sons can do good for themselves can't they? Funny. 

"Oh wow. Thank you, this is- this is so generous." She glowed.

"Take care," The sheriff packed his wallet into his pocket and bristly left. Finally, now they can go home.


	6. It's Not Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for posting so late at this awful hour, but thank you for all the anticipation :-) let's continue!! I think this story is gonna go up to at least 12 chapters, if not more. There are some lines here that are lyrics from Twenty Øne Pilots' Car radio and Addict with a Pen.

The sheriff started up the car only to find Stiles just sitting there. His phone was clenched in between his hands, the multiple texts from Scott appearing.

"Stiles?" John called out softly. Stiles shot his attention directly to his father.

"You okay kid?" The sheriff asked.

"Yeah." Stiles sighed. "I.. I just couldn't decide whether or not to text Scott."

Inability to make decisions. Check. Double check. - the sheriff kept another mental note.

"He'd appreciate it. If you don't feel like talking about yourself, just ask him how things are going." John suggested and then smiled when he saw Stiles typing away. John looked over and noticed the missed texts from Scott.

Scott: Stiles you okay? You left me on read.

Scott: I'm sorry if I did something man. Please answer.

Scott: Stiles, I'm getting worried about you. I'm gonna swing by after school anyways.

Stiles: Hey, sorry, been busy. It's ok, you don't have to come, I'm feeling a little out of it anyways. What's going on?

The sheriff started to get concerned when he reviewed the symptoms he's noticed today. He knows it's getting worse. The obliviousness, the indecisiveness, the mood swings, and the complaints of muscle aches.

"You still feel sore?" The sheriff asked, continuing to drive home.

"A little bit." Stiles mumbled. "But it's better." His voice seemed a little more cheery the second time around.

"That's good," the sheriff said, he felt a little better now. 

"Sorry about breakfast," Stiles apologized to his father, for his little outburst and insincerity. But it wasn't his fault. His father knew that.

"Sorry for what?" John rose his eyebrow. "Stiles, you don't have to apologize for that," 

"I-i do, I ruined it. You tried to do something nice for me and I just ruined it." Stiles admitted as he laid back, feeling the aching in his body that was ghost just minutes before.

"It's okay son, really." John spoke the truth. He gave a glance to Stiles who wasn't talking anymore. A small noise like a 'ding' was heard. It was another text from probably Scott. "You should get that." John said, but Stiles didn't. He just wasn't in the mood for any of the babying. 

"I'm not going to." Stiles said abruptly, a sudden change in his tone lurked around, searching for a way out. 

The sheriff gave one of his disappointed sighs. Stiles knew it, because his dad had three, this one, his stressed out sigh, and his exhausted sigh. Stiles was accustomed to hearing the disappointment sigh. John looked back at his son and saw him counting his fingers, like as if it were a dreaming.

"One. Two. Three" Stiles whispered very quietly.

John kept his eyes fixated on the roads as the rain started to pour harder. 

"Four. Five. Six." The whispers continued.

Rain drops poured in from a cracked open window of Stiles. "Stiles, can you please close the window?" The sheriff asked to break him out of his trance.

"Seven. Eight. Nine-" Stiles stopped when his father reckoned him. He then sighed in distress when he lost count. 

"Stiles, please it's gonna start pouring so hard." He heard John say once again. So he pressed on the button until the window was completely rolled up.

It suddenly stopped. The rain stopped pouring as if it were just a 2 minute shower. The sun started to display its golden rays, sending a path of light that reflected off the car windows. Stilinski pulled down his window, dumbfounded with the weather. Stiles seemed to have a stupid grin on his face, enjoying the chance of weather.

"Okay, if the world can change from dark and gloomy grey to golden and blue skies then you can answer Scott's texts." His dad admitted. 

Stiles took out his phone again; he read his texts.

Scott: PLEASE ANSWER, you're out of the hospital right?

Lydia: Stiles are you ignoring Scott? He's really down today. He could use a cheer-up text.

Stiles thought long and hard about what to write until he decided to send them both the same thing.

Stiles: I am fine, just not feeling it today. Got busy, can't today. Don't wanna talk.

It was rough, but Stiles felt no empathy what so ever. Until the car ride home was over.

His mind sped to a million things as his dad left the car and trailed behind him. John picked up the mail and Stiles saw a couple of letters out of the corner of his eye.

Medical bills.

Oh god.

He heard his dad give out a sigh, Stiles couldn't tell what type it was. But it was sad. The teenager felt sick to his stomach as they walked in, watching the sheriff immediately sit down and review the letters.

"Anything important dad?" Stiles asked quietly as he ruffled his hands in his pockets. He felt like shit because of this. Because all of this, was his fault. 

"No, no, just some letters from the hospital, something about just follow up appointments." John said as a cover. But Stiles saw the bills as the sheriff tried to cover them up with some other information. Stiles took a seat next to him and stopped his father's arm. John gave him a glare.

"I know what those are.." Stiles admitted, eyeing the letters. 

"Stiles -- you don't have to worry about these." His father replied, taking his sheriff's jacket off and hanging it behind him on the chair he sat on. He rubbed his fatigued eyes as he read the letters.

"I-I can get a job dad, at the grocery store, cashier, you know," Stiles offered, he got easily flustered.

"Stiles." His father objected. But Stiles couldn't stop overthinking. His mind was doing that racing thing again, as if it were a NASCAR driving. He couldn't stop it, his brain was filling with thoughts and Stiles found himself drowning and dying a slow and painful death. He felt the guilt and anxiety disguise themselves as a rosy color on his cheeks. 

"I can help Dad! You don't have to do this alone, it's.. It's too much! It's because of me so I have to help!" Stiles said in a louder voice now as he stood up. The chair behind him was knocked over as a result in the momentum. 

"Stiles -- please sit down, you're gonna get hurt." The tired words come out of his father's mouth.

"No, okay? I will not! I'm not as weak as you think I am, not as much as Derek, and Lydia, and Kira, and Liam and Scott and all them think!" Stiles said in an outrage, clearly not thinking right. He felt his temper sky rocket. 

"Is that why you didn't want them over today?" John perks up and pops the question.

Stiles hesitated and stuttered. "I- I don't." He stopped for second and realized his father has trapped him inside his own thoughts, sending him to his impending doom. "I don't need help, and I don't need pity, and I don't need everyone tiptoeing around me and babying me!" Stiles was still upset and exclaiming.

"Okay Stiles, I hear you, I hear you son. Just please -- take it easy, sit down. Take a breather." His father stood up and put an arm on his son in an attempt to get him to chill.

"I'm not a damn little kid! Everyone keeps on treating me like I'm a little toy that's needs fixing. Like if they suddenly say it'll be alright, that they'll put me back together again!" Stiles' ranting seemed to come to a stop when he met his father's eyes. The yelling ceased fire. Stiles then continued to say in a coarse whisper, "I'm not broken Dad. I'm still good." 

"No, you're not broken Stiles. You're not. It's just that people like you -- they come so rarely so we try everything we can to protect them." His father's words stabbed him in the heart and shot him in the head. Stiles felt like even more shit now. He felt even guiltier now.

Stiles found himself back in his own head. He struggled to find light as he traveled the desert of his mind. He hasn't found a drop of water, of life. Stiles started count his fingers again. One, two, three. 

Four, five, six.

"Hey. Maybe you should go lie down, alright?" John suggested, but it just echoed through Stiles' ears.

Seven, eight, nine.

Ten.

Stiles gave his dad a slow nod and was followed to his room. He allowed his body to succumb to exhaustion and flop on top his beloved bed after pulling off his sneaks. He was too tired to even pull off his sweatshirt and khakis, but it was cold anyways. John made sure that Stiles left his door open before returning to his seat and reviewing the bills. The older man spoke quietly to himself, but Stiles could listen because silence is loud. 

"Oh my god $2,117 for an MRI? 5,680 for the stay? Oh.." The sheriff sighed but stayed calm. 

Stiles felt an overwhelming feeling of uneasiness. That weary feeling coming back to him once again in the deep of his guts. He checked his phone. No texts yet, but it was 11:07 a.m. right now so everyone was in class. Stiles didn't want to send another text because he didn't want to get Scott in trouble. Instead, his thoughts accompanied him once again as lonely messengers. Nothing beats menacing thoughts that make you wanna die, right? He couldn't get his brain together. It was like somebody had taken him in, given him all the food and resources he could ever need, then suddenly just picked him up and took him to the desert and left him for dead. He couldn't focus, not in his thoughts, not on his body healing, not on breathing, not on anything. Stiles started to panic. He thought that maybe he could get some Adderall to sooth his nerves, completely unaware of what Melissa told his father. The teen jolted upright and supported himself up with the wall. In frustration he threw his phone on the floor in the process, but it had survived the vicious attack anyways. Ok, Adderall starts in your body quickly, you just need to get to it Stiles. He told himself over and over and rummaged through his drawers like a wild animal search for prey to feast on. At last, he found his bottle, and reached for a single dose, then downed it through his throat so quickly. Instantly he felt the quick. He felt a little dizzy, a little dazed as he hunched over to catch his breath. Stiles got back up, feeling more anxious and restless then ever. A tingly feeling had started up like a fire burning in his bones. Pants escaped from his mouth as he looked in the mirror and saw a red, exasperated reflection.

You did this Stiles. You did this yourself, and your dad and everyone who cares about you. - Stiles thought as he looked reflectively in the mirror once again.

This time he started pulling at his hair in frustration. You should've listened to Liam you dumbass. It's your fault! Your dad can't go through this again, not after your mom. Stiles thought his own reflection was saying it back to him, like in one of those movies where the main character is about to do something against their nature and their reflection tries to talk them out of it. 

"No. No it wasn't that, it's not me he said." Stiles spoke to himself. He started grabbing things like a three year old and his toys and started throwing them across the room as he lost his breath.

"It's not -- its not Me" Stiles panted over his muttering as he made his way to the wall and hit it the first time.

"It's not me!" Stiles couldn't breathe at this point and relentlessly lunged at the wall, creating an effortless pounding that his father heard. 

"Stiles?!" His father called out as he ran to the room, only to find his only son, sobbing for breath as he repeatedly punched the wall desperately saying "it's not me." John immediately wrapped his arms around Stiles and tussled out into the hallways with his hysterical son. 

"I-- let go! It's not me, it's not me! I don't-- wanna--hurt you" Stiles couldn't breathe as hiccups of sobs broke his silence.

"Stiles, breathe, breathe, listen to me! You have to calm down okay? Hold your breath Stiles!" His father spoke but Stiles trembled in his arms with tears rolling down his face ever so slightly, clearly not doing a good job in listening. His vision was clouded and his hearing was muffled.

The sheriff resorted to the last tactic of a skill he learned in his training with veterans in the war who dealt with PTSD. He held Stiles tight to him and took his hand to his nose, pinching it to force him to breathe in slowly. Stiles reacted just the way his father hoped, desperate enough for air that he had to breathe in slowly through his mouth. As the ill-teenager calmed down, they both seemed to sink down to the floor. 

"Stiles, talk to me kid." 

Still no response John watched Stiles' eyes close. The next moment, he felt the muscles underneath his arms that belongs to Stiles went rigid as his body vibrated erratically.

"Stiles- Stiles- it's okay, I'm here. I'm here, it's okay!" His father shouted out as he laid him down on his side when he realized he was having a seizure. The combination of violent arm lunges, trembling, and slight face spasms sported Stiles only for a mere 34 seconds in which John was extremely thankful for. His son laid by his side, unconscious as he took quick raspy breaths. The sheriff put a hand on his forehead. Stiles was strikingly feverish but his body ceased the shaking. He rubbed circles on his back to comfort him.

"It's okay.. It's okay." Was all John could say. 

He pulled out the phone from his pocket as he continued to comfort Stiles and dialed Melissa. "Hello? Melissa? It's John. ...Yeah -- Do you think you can take your break early? Alright, as fast as you can please."

John shut off his phone and laid back on the wall, occasionally touching Stiles every few minutes. He wondered why Stiles didn't come to tell him if he had fell off or ill or anything.

Sometimes silence is violent.


	7. Help

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for a delay again! I had a personal matter to attend to, but I'm back so let's continue the story. I'm trying so hard not to rush so that's why I'm taking a little more time writing my chapters.

John stumbled around the hall and sat closer to his son who was lying on the floor, unconscious after his short seizure. He kneeled down and put Stiles' head in between his knees to elevate it. The sheriff wasn't sure how much more of this torture Stiles could take. The cramping of the hands, the rolling back of the eyes, the hitched raspy breaths -- they all had been seared into John's mind forever.

Stiles opened his eyes slowly, only to find himself lying on the ground with a mirage that stood with clouded vision. He blinked repeatedly and bobbed his head side to side, silently analyzing his surroundings.

"Stiles?" His father spoke gently as he received a look from his son. "Do you know where we are?" John remembered the questions he was supposed to ask every time this happened.

Stiles took another look around, wringing his fingers when he did so. He took quick short breaths before giving an answer. "Home." He said very quietly.

"Do you know what happened?" His father put a hand down on his forehead and felt his skin that was hot to the touch.

"What?" Stiles asked when he was confused.

"You had a seizure. But you're okay now," John continued as Stiles shot him a glare that broke John's heart. The boy just looked so little and so broken as he raised his eyebrows in worry. Stiles rubbed his hands over his face, as if trying to clean the misery right off his body.

John thought long and hard during a moment of silence as he waited for Melissa. He continued to pat on Stiles' chest to keep his breathing upbeat. The older man enjoyed listening to the familiar thu-thump beating of his heart and was always discouraged when sometimes it decides to get a little crazy and hectic. But what made Stiles like that anyways? Before he went to his room he was fine. Sure he was a little anxious, but he was somewhat normal.

"Stiles?" John called out for his son's name to keep his eyes open when it hit him. "What medication did you take?" 

Stiles was distant in his own world, but he was still there as he felt the cool touch of his father against his temperate body. "I took--" Stiles paused when he had difficulty remembering them. "The one that starts with a T." 

"The topamax," the sheriff finished as he raised his eyebrows, "anything else Stiles?" 

Stiles nodded. "And my Adderall for the day," he finished.

Of course.

The sheriff sighed, knowing exactly what was going on. Stiles wasn't supposed to be taking his ADHD meds with the anticonvulsants because the Adderall is known to cause seizures. "Stiles, you're not supposed to take those anymore, remember buddy?" John asked and wondered how long it would be for Melissa to arrive. But Stiles just gave a slight shake of the head.

Stiles looked up and stared at the roof. He now noticed that the white ceilings weren't really white at all. Some patches were grey, some were a little tan, where others really were a snowy white. But it changes from your perspective. He tilted his head. Now, the once white paint patches were a darker shade then previously. Stiles never thought he could have related to a ceiling. He never thought he would ever think that maybe the grass isn't always greener on the other side from a ceiling. He never would've thought it gave him the impression that maybe the illness, the seizures, could humble him. Or maybe he we just crazy. He'll never know. But then that awful, dreaded feeling of unease came back and settled in his stomach, leaving a lurking feeling of unfathomable quench and anxiety. Stiles immediately jolted up, knowing what was coming.

"Stiles take it easy!" His father yelled at him as Stiles staggered against the walls when he tried to run for the bathroom. He held himself up by the staircase when a dizzy spell poured over him but he finally made it to the door with his father's hand on his shoulder. 

Stiles went immediately to the toilet itself and hunched forward, sending his spiked hair on a trip to the moon and back. He retched as he vomited a bit into the toilet. He was surprised at what had come out of him even though he hasn't eaten well in the four days or so. John was there besides him comforting his son the entire time. He listened to the sound of the toilet flushing whiles Stiles grasped the edge of the bathroom sink as he looked into the mirror and washed his face. His face looked worn out. Eyes were drooping in places he hasn't seen that bad since the nogitsune. The lack of sleep showed evident with pink rings around them. His skin was paler then it should have been. Hair strands were out of place and he's pretty sure Lydia would be disappointed in his appearance currently. He ran a hand through his hair as he tried to get a hold of himself. Stiles realizes he hasn't showed in three days, not since he accidentally locked himself in his room and almost gave his dad a heart attack.Then he returned to the familiar clutch of the ceramic in the kitchen sink. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his dad looking at him off of the mirror. John looked even more tired than Stiles, that was a disturbing thought. Stiles splashed water on his face, addicted to how good the refreshing chill felt on his skin. The only sound he could hear clearly was the running water, but his dazed mental state knew that his dad was trying to say something but he can't hear anything.

Stiles dried off himself with the hand towel before feeling John's touch on his shoulder and his words vibrated in his ears. "Are you feeling a little better son?" His worried timbre pounded against Stiles' eardrums.

Stiles gave a nod as he strengthened his grip on the sink's counter when he felt a little weak and dizzy. His father swung an arm around his body, supporting him as he walked. Stiles reached out his lanky arms for the staircase and with John's help, and took a seat on the second step. He held his head in his hands in frustration, trying to piece together the last events. 

I'm going crazy.  
I'm drowning in my own insanity. All Stiles could think of was that. 

His father sat down next to him as he waited for Melissa to come. He frowned when he saw his son in pain.

"I'm sorry, i... I didn't know," Stiles apologized quietly. His head pounded so hard as the words tiptoed out of his mouth. He perked up and rubbed his eyes as he took a deep breath. 

"You're okay," John reminded him. "It's never your fault kid," he said to Stiles as he sighed slightly. "I'm gonna get you some medication okay?" 

Stiles nodded as he hesitated to leave his dad's side. He was worried that he would always have to depend on someone else so he would hurt himself. Stiles didn't think he was worth the trouble. But he's too modest to think otherwise. He watched as his dad faded away around their corner of the hall to the kitchen. John retrieved a glass of water and came back to Stiles. He waited until the cup was in full grasp of Stiles with two hands as they slightly trembled, making ripples in the water that shook in rhythm to his body.

"Where's the damn medications?" John quietly whispered to himself as he left Stiles to drink the water. The familiar refreshing chill soothed his throat. A knock was heard on the door that Stiles was frightened at.

Melissa.

"Dad-- who's here?" Stiles asked frantically as he quickly put down the cup on the stair step next to him.

John immediately went for the door, relieved that Melissa had come with impeccable speed from the hospital. He just hope she didn't manage to put anyone in the hospital on the way here. She wore a face of concerned expression. But behind her was a figure of great masculinity.

Derek.

"Dad?" Stiles' voice was still small as he called out for his father curiously. He felt like he was still dizzy and wanted to sleep, no he needed to sleep. He fought so hard against the urge to let his eyelids rest as they just dropped further and further. Stiles found his fingers intertwined in the staircase as they held onto the wood. His head bobbed to the left as he started to drift off to sleep, and finally, for the first time he felt relaxed.

"Where is he?" Melissa barged in with Derek trailing in behind her. 

"He's over here, he started freaking out -- panicking, and then he passed out and had a seizure again." The sheriff explained as he lead her to his previous location only to find Stiles unresponsive against the stair case.

Melissa quickly ran to him and kneeled down. Her first instinct was to hold his hand and use the other to feel how warm his forehead was. "Stiles? Stiles." She called out. She held two fingers to his wrist as John and Derek watched with worry. 

"Is he okay?-- What's wrong!?" Derek proclaimed, desperate for an answer. 

"Nothing, he's asleep." Melissa, John, and Derek all had a moment of relief. Thank god. She took a deep breath. "Let's get him to his bed," The nurse ordered as they all supported Stiles' body and carefully carried him to his bed. Melissa tucked him in and placed pillows between the bed and his nightstand and the headboard in case he had another seizure. 

"You sure he didn't like pass out or something?" Derek asked.

They both shook their head simultaneously. "He hasn't slept the entire week, and when he did, he either woke up with a seizure or fell asleep because of sedatives," The sheriff explained. All three of them left the room quickly, Derek listened into Stiles' calm steady heart beat as they left the door ajar.

"He didn't even take his other medication," John referred to the antipsychotics.

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about, Stiles cannot take those. It's not approved for anyone with Dementia and is actually fatal." Melissa claimed. 

"Now we know that there's a job opening for a psychiatric specialist," John joked to shed light on the situation.

"Yeah.. So the hospital wants to run an EEG test tomorrow so we can get what's going on. His symptoms are coming way too fast. For what took others 2 years to develop it took him a few weeks." The nurse told Derek.

"Well, didn't they say that it's been progressing for years now?" Derek asked.

"That's the problem, it's progressing at an incredibly fast rate now that could put Stiles in a dangerous situation. It could make a simple task such as taking a shower into a run to the ER. Was there anything you noticed that might have really provoked the seizure?" Melissa asked as she, John and Derek took a seat at the dining table.

"He was incredibly upset." The sheriff replayed the last hour in his mind and took a gulp. He's been ignoring Scott and Lydia, they're really worried. And he is too. And then he got anxious and he ended up taking his daily Adderall because he forgot he wasn't supposed to anymore. He passed out, had a seizure and then threw up." The sheriff tapped his fingers on the table when he remembered what Stiles was doing earlier that day. 

One, two, three.

Four, five, six.

Seven, eight, nine, ten.

"He was.. I caught him counting his fingers about three times today." The sheriff was perplexed on what exactly Stiles' point of doing that was. "I don't know what it means though.."

"He was checking if it was real or was just a dream." Derek answered with his deep timbre as he scratched his gruff stubble. "Stiles said that you have extra fingers in dreams, so if you have ten, then it's real."

"He was checking if this was real." Melissa said solemnly.

Derek nodded. "It's all just a big nightmare to him."

"to anybody really," John pointed out.

"Has he been eating?" Melissa had a follow up question. She looked at John with a lovely look and met his eyes who were dancing between hers and something on the table. Letters maybe? She caught a glance at the address. 

Beacon Hills Memorial.

Of course. Bills. No wonder John was even more stressed out.

The sheriff shook his nose. "Not at all, I tried but he can't keep it down. It's weird. I remember Claudia- she would always have the most random cravings like sweets or suddenly sour things, an appetite. But Stiles' seems to be missing." John reminisced. Stiles was the exact opposite of Claudia's experience so far. "And I would like to get him on some sort of safe alternative to the antipsychotics. I think it could help him." 

Melissa looked down at her watch.

11:53 p.m.

"Well, I will get that looked into today. I gotta go, but I'll swing by after my shift around 5? I'll send Scott, I'm pretty sure he has something really important." Melissa gave him a soft smile and a goodbye to Derek as she picked up her bag and left. She knew what Scott was gonna do she couldn't be prouder.

The sheriff got up. "Would you like some lunch Derek? I'm going to make spaghetti." Derek politely nodded.

"I'll help," he offered. 

It was the least he could do.

Help.


	8. Our Brains Are Sick But That's Ok

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long for an update, I was sick the past few days, but now I'm better and ready to write! The Twenty One Pilot song mentioned at the bottom is Fake You Out.

The sheriff and Derek fumbled around the kitchen silently for a good two minutes. Derek scrunched his nose, he smelled the scent lurking in the air. It was quite pungent actually, a sense of misery and sickness all rolled into a wrap of anxiety, vomit, and dazes. He knew it was Stiles. John grabbed a box of pasta from the cupboard as Derek poured water into the pot and set it on the stove.

"So, I assume Stiles is missing school this week?" Derek asked awkwardly. He's never really been in one on one conversations with sheriff besides interrogations with him as a misfit teenager.

"He wants to go back as soon as possible but I don't think that's the greatest idea, plus he needs the rest this week." John said as he tossed his servings of the dry spaghetti sticks into the water. He then put out some tomatoes, bell peppers, onions, and cans of tomato sauce with a few chicken breasts on the counter top.

"Why the hell would he insist on going to high school, most kids would kill to take a day off." Derek chuckled a little with John.

The sheriff then added, "well most kids aren't Stiles. Something about end of the year lacrosse championship, exams. I would prefer he just got tutored the rest of the year but I mean it's his last one so." The sheriff then asked the alpha male to dice up the vegetables in which Derek took a knife to. 

The scent of misery and distraught still lingered like those bad childhood memories you tried so hard to forget. "I think Stiles got it, he's pretty strong, even for a human," Derek admitted as his chopping started a rhythmic beat. The sheriff grabbed the thawed out pieces of chicken breast and started to sear them. 

"I'm still not sure if the kid is still even human sometimes. It's weird, you know? His capabilities and will power -- it's too great to be human." The sheriff continued to cut then and then clean the chicken as Derek listened closely. "Sometimes, I'll come home late at night at around 10 to pick up some stuff and take them back to the station to finish up. I usually find Stiles had already eaten dinner and is working on homework." 

"But that's not that unusual for a teenager?" Derek asked, anxious for the sheriff to expand his state.

"By the time I come home again, it'll be 1 in the morning, I swing by Stiles' room and he's still up. But his door is never locked anymore. He never shuts it completely, and I've noticed it after his junior year, after you know." John explained and referred to when Stiles fought the nogitsune. Derek rose his eyebrow, having a look on his face that said "what's wrong with that?" with words that weren't even spoken. John looked at him. "Stiles has locked his door everyday for his life ever since Claudia passed."

The silence after that spoke loudly. Only the slicing of the chicken and dicing of tomatoes and sweet bell peppers could be heard. 

Immediately, Derek stops the rhythmic beat of his vegetable dicing and releases the knife. He holds his head down, listening into the silent air. 

"What's wrong?" The sheriff asked concerned. He knew it was Stiles once Derek started to furrow his brows.

"His heartbeat is jumping, it's- it's so loud," Derek responded as he shot a glare to the sheriff. Thanks again to their non-verbal communication based solely on their facial expressions, the men dashed to Stiles' room. Derek ran into the room only to find Stiles muttering something, he couldn't tell what. Stiles tossed and turned rapidly. 

The sheriff gaped in awe, "Stiles? Is he having a seizure? Can't you smell it or something?" 

Derek listened into the murmuring. "No. No. I can't, Dad." The whispers became smaller. "What- I can't help- I can't help" Stiles rapidly said as his heart started to beat physically against his chest.

"He's having a nightmare," Derek realized.

"Stiles." John put his hand on his son's shoulder. He slightly shook him in which Stiles responded with a toss and more murmuring. 

"I can't." He spoke again, barely loud enough for Derek to hear.

"Stiles!" Derek called out after as the murmuring started to get louder. 

"I can't, I can't- I can't" Stiles started speaking out loud.

"Stiles wake up!" The words echoed painfully through the teen's eardrums, barely pulling him out of his terror. "Stiles wake up!" John yelled out again. 

Stiles' body trembled in fear as he jolted upright and his eyes lit up. His chest hit Derek's hand which held him from getting up, enforcing the idea of Stiles to lay back down. 

"Kid you're alright, just take a breather," John held Stiles close to him as he listened to his erratic panting. Derek looked at Stiles, his cheeks were pink and flushed. 

"W-what the hell?" Stiles muttered quietly as he looked up to Derek who was trying to hide sense of horror.

"You had another nightmare, I could hear your heart practically making a hole in your chest," Derek gruffly said, trying to cover up the sympathy he weakly displayed. 

"Stiles, are you okay? Do- do you feel dizzy or out of it or anything?" John pondered as Stiles started to count his fingers again.

One, two, three.

Four, five, six.

"Stiles this is real," Derek said.

Seven, eight, nine.

Ten.

He was awake, thank god. After a brief moment of questions from his dad, the sheriff's son needed to get this moment off his mind. Stiles had proposed the idea of cleaning up in the bathroom which he forced them to let him go by himself and Derek and the sherif continued to the kitchen.

"He's still getting nightmares?" Derek questioned.

The sheriff nodded. "It sounds like he always has the same occurring one, but he never wants to tell me. I wish he would just take the medicine to help him sleep." John explains as he glares at Derek with a revelation. "Wait, what did Melissa say about the antipsychotics? I was sort of distracted."

Derek racked his brain and found something about it not working. "They aren't approved for people with dementia and can be fatal." 

The words, for the second time but only actually hearing them around for the first time, stabbed Stilinski in the heart. And to think, John was so damn close to giving Stiles the meds. He could've killed his own son. His eyes widened in shock.

"Can be fatal? I was seconds away from almost killing Stiles?" The sheriff said, frustrated with himself, the hospital, and that sleaze Dr. Hayes who could make any stupid idea sound brilliant with his British accent. John eyed the small bottle on the table across him that was titled Zyprexa.

"But you didn't, so let's just look at it that way." Derek tried to reassure him, but failed to do so.

"I'm gonna get that bastard fired!" John gritted through his teeth in an outrage.

"You do that, but it's not gonna help Stiles." Here came the sympathetic voice of Derek Hale, the sour-wolf. "Let's just finish lunch before you start a fire." What a brilliant idea. Derek Hale, ladies and gentlemen!

The sheriff gave him an odd look as they continued in their cooking. "You know, there is a chance Stiles could get better." Derek tried to be nice as he responded to the older man's silence.

"At the rate that his symptoms are developing at?" The sheriff rubbed sweat off his brows with his elbows and marinated his chicken after washing it. "I just." He sighed and paused. "I just don't want Stiles to suffer, the nightmares, the seizures, everything."

"The bite is still an offer," Derek reminded him as he finished the vegetables.

"He won't take it. It's not my choice it's his." Stilinski said prominently as he tossed the chicken on the stove to cook it while Derek sautéed the vegetables. 

"Can't he get any treatment for anything?" Derek thought.

"We don't know, the anticonvulsants aren't effective at all, except for his rescue medicine which thank god we haven't used yet." John claimed as he tossed the chicken around, listening to the crackling of the heat.

"Rescue medicine?" Derek was just full of questions today.

"If Stiles ever has an emergency or something like a seizure that lasts more than 5 minutes, it's supposed to stop it immediately. He's not supposed to drive or do anything by himself which could end up hurting him." John explains as he opens a few cans of tomato sauce and pours it in the pot.

Derek heard at that moment the sound of running water, trickles and blasts of water in the house.

"Like taking a shower without anyone there to make sure he's safe?" Bang. Another stab in the heart to the sheriff by Derek Hale. Words cut as deep as the wolf's claws.

John glared at him, instantly knowing what he was saying. They both went directly to the bathroom in a frenzy. Steam poured out from the small room.

"The door's open," The sheriff claimed with a sigh of relief.

"Stiles?" Derek called out loudly.

"Yeah? I'm taking a shower!" Stiles yelled out as his own voice echoed through and about the tiles. Derek could smell the fresh Axe shampoo and body gel and wrinkled his nose. A bad scent still covered the area, the scent of misery still lurked. 

"Okay, just be quick please!" His father snapped in quickly as they retreated back to the kitchen.

Stiles was running the cold shower water through his skin as he spoke with a strong yet phased voice. He forgot that he should've told his father he was going to shower. Next time. The remnants of his bad dream from his nap shook terror through his skull. He still loved the icy feeling of the chills sent down his spine, almost cynically pleasing. Strands of wet dark hair flopped up and down as he groomed himself, shaving off the small amounts of stubble that had accumulated in the last week. When he was done, he looked down at his body. He noticed he was starting to lose muscle tone and started to get lanky, weak, and skinnier. The wall was used as a barrier with the shower curtain as Stiles held himself up with the strength in his fist. 

Meanwhile, Derek and the sheriff were cautiously continuing their work. As John finished up the sauce, Derek helped out and finished up with the chicken.

"You know-- I don't mind staying with Stiles today if you've got something at the station," Derek offered up the older man. He had just felt so damn sorry for what he and Stiles was going to go through.

"No I couldn't ask you of that, work can wait." The sheriff said as he poured the spaghetti onto three plates.

"Really, I'd be happy to help." Derek said sympathetically. He could just imagine his entire family saying he's going soft. 

John glared at him for a second, then it warped into a soft smile. "Thank you." John tossed the savory, aromatic sauce on one plate of spaghetti. Derek chopped at the chicken into small little pieces. John took the chicken and mixed them in with some seasoning and the vegetables. He tossed some onto another plate of spaghetti and lavishly sprinkled a little greenery on top. "Help yourself to either." The sheriff told Derek who then gave himself a serving of the chicken and vegetables as well on his meal. John took two plates to the table and Derek followed him, juggling with his own plate and two water bottles from the fridge.

Derek hears the familiar sound of the rushing water come to an abrupt stop. "Stiles is done." 

The sheriff looked at him as he got a third water bottle and looked down in the hall. He saw Stiles' door swing, just barely shutting completely. "That's scary, Hale." John took a seat after placing three forks on the table. 

Huh. 

The scene looks like a nice lovely family get together.

Odd.

Stiles was still in his room, bobbing his head to the side to get the water out of his ears. He looked at his reflection in the mirror. Stiles didn't look like that shaggy old pup that no one wanted to adopt anymore. He looked clean, fresh. And he like it. But he could still see the humility wiped across his face from everything he's done that day. He felt a little cold now, the winter months came near which means lacrosse is going to come to an end soon.

He took a look outside.

The world didn't stop. Of course, he thought, the world doesn't revolve around him. People still were going to walk their dogs. They were still going to rake the leaves. The dogs still played with the small children who were to young to go to school. The world didn't stop.

Everything moved in motion slowly. Almost at a constant rate to him.

Stiles' attention dropped when he heard his phone receive a text. And like always, he ignored it.

Instead he hit Pandora, and it played the first Twenty One Pilots song that came up. Maybe he just needed some time to himself. 

> I, Want to drive, away.

  


> In the night, headlights call my name.

I, I'll never be, be what you see inside.

Stiles started going through his drawers in search for something. For something.

> And I will fake you out.

> And I will break down.

> And I will fake you out.

He still rummaged through his belongings, hoping it was still there. He was desperate for it.

> It's the same game today as it always is. I don't give the places fake my names explaining this. And the wrists of my mind have these bleeding lines.

> That remind me of all the crimes I have committed.

Stiles frustratingly panted as he searched for it. Search for what?

> To what I've done and what I'm doing. I'm brewing and losing and spewing infusing.

> And believe me that's what all the kids are doing.

It has to be here, why the hell is it not here?

> What kids are doing are killing themselves. They feel they have no control over their prisoner's cell. 

Wait.

Something is shiny underneath that box in his drawer.

 

> Am I right? Of course I am. Convince me either wise would take you all night. Before you walk away there's one more thing I wanted to say.

He found it.

Stiles found his jeep's keys. And attached to his keys was a laminated picture of him and his mother. 

Stiles took a thumb to the picture, rubbing it over as the picture seemed to bring every drop of sanity back to him.

> Our brains are sick but that's okay.

He found it.


	9. Take A Walk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this chapter is so short! I got caught up trying to write chapters ahead so I can post more often.

Stiles pulled on some khakis and his usual flannel with a white collared shirt. He flicked his pandora app off his phone, his keys still in hand. He hears someone walking toward his room so he throws his keys underneath his baseball cap. John stands by the door, leaning against the wall and smiling at his son.

"Hey bud," His dad said gently, walking over to him. 

"If you're gonna ask me if I'm fine I am." Stiles said defensively. His eyes shifted between his father's gaze and the hat that hid his keys. Oh how he wanted to glare at the picture now. He wanted to analyze it for every detail it had, he felt like he back with his mom everytime he looked at it. What's worse is that his father would be upset if he found out he had it, considering Stiles dug through years worth of home artifacts to find it.

"Sit," John found his way to Stiles' bed and took a seat as he patted a spot down next to him. Stiles did as he was told. "Do you wanna tell me what that was about?" 

"I can't sleep I guess, 'dunno. It was nothing." Stiles shrugged, bringing back that negative attitude he had desperately tried to demolish.

"You know exactly what it was. I know it too." John said as he put a hand on Stiles' knee. "You used to get that nightmare as a kid, all the time. I remember, those words, you just mumbled them over over, convinced you did something wrong when you were only 6 years old. The very first time, you cried so hard you couldn't sleep for a week. Drove your mom crazy."

"What's changed?" Stiles tried to at least pretend he was okay and gave a small chuckle. 

"I know it's frightening kid, you just gotta find a way to cope with it." John finished off. "We're gonna find a way, don't you worry. We're in this together."

Stiles nodded. The sheriff looked at his watch. 

12:45 p.m.

"Now I know it's a little early, but we made spaghetti. And Derek's still here too, so how about you join us?" The older man wrinkled the corner of his eyes and gave a friendly smile again.

"Sure dad, lemme just clean some things up." Stiles replied back as his dad made his way through to the door. 

"Oh, and Stiles?" His dad stopped before leaving. "I think your mom would like it if that picture was in your wallet instead of attached to your keys. Just so it won't get ruined." And with that he left to the dining table.

He knew. 

Stiles wasn't so sly after all. Old man's got eyes in the back of his head and security cameras hidden in all corners of the house probably. He picked up the clothes off the floor, the way he would be forced to if his mom was there to scold him for it. Stiles decided not to clean up just his room, but also his act. He can't blame everything on the illness, or the ADHD, or the panic attacks. Stiles was a walking medical mystery case. But solving mysteries was sort of his thing.

Then, he reached for his phone, opening up a missed text from Scott, maybe the 7th one that day?

Stiles: Sorry man, got occupated. You can come over if you want. It's ok

His thumb hovered over the send button and forced himself to push it. He tucked his phone into his pocket and went to join the two other men for lunch. Stiles didn't even have an appetite. But he had to suck it up and get ready to shovel a plate of pasta down his throat. He cautiously pulled his bedroom door, hesitant to shut it all the way. With a moral battle against himself, he left it ajar. Maybe if he left the door open just a little bit he wouldn't close up whatever sanity was left in there in hiding. He continued walking to lunch, counting his steps as he did. 

One, two.  
One, two.

He looked up to see Derek giving him a glare. What the hell was up with the guy? One day he's all happy like a little werewolf puppy and then the next day he's a homicidal maniac. Stiles took a seat that was all prepared for him with a plate heaping of the aromatic spaghetti. Oh how he longed to get that in his stomach after living a week on hospital cafeteria food that he could never hold down. Maybe after such a screwed up morning, Stiles could have a better afternoon. 

"Good to see you Stiles," Derek said, pretending to be in a good place with teen. 

Seriously what the hell was wrong with the guy? Acting all nice when really he couldn't stand Stiles. Stiles shrugged as he took a seat and began slipping spaghetti onto his fork. 

"So, Stiles, uh Melissa came by." His dad said, immediately making Stiles' eyebrow get a 90 degree angle. "Tomorrow they want you at the hospital at 8 a.m. for some tests scheduled at 9."

Stiles continued slurping on his spaghetti, not taking for granted that he can keep it down for once. But he hated the news, the gut-wrenching soul sucking news of more tests, more blood draws, more headaches, painkillers, complaints, and bright lights. A recipe for disaster. A recipe for Stiles.

"She also said that the Zyprexa-- you can't take, apparently it proved fatal in dementia patients." John finished as Derek tried to politely stay out of the conversation.

Oh right. He forgot. He has dementia. Stupid. But fatality? He knew that smart ass was stupid.

"Wait, what did u say?" Stiles perked his head up.

"The Zyprexa, it's not safe to take." 

"Fucking idiot I knew it," Stiles whispered loud enough for John and Derek to hear as they both glared at him, in shock his words. Stiles swore he was gonna kill the guy. Just because you have a British accent doesn't mean everything you say is right.

"Stiles..?" Derek questioned as he looked to the sheriff who was rubbing his face. John was willing to let it slide.

"Anyways, I'm going to call the hospital about it, see if we can get anything else for whatever you need." He said supportively. 

"Scott's coming over, y'know after school." Stiles abruptly stated, but it brought relief instead of tremors to the two men in front of him.

"What about Lydia, Kira, Malia, and Liam?" 

"Um I don't know. I kinda just asked Scott. Whatever. I don't want to bother the others." Stiles twisted his spaghetti frustratingly as it wound larger and larger, more and more.

"Are you still.." John hesitated for a moment. "With Malia? Or uh Lydia?"

Stiles shook his head. "Malia likes me. I think Lydia likes me. They're both friends. So I'm just not gonna mess with that. And I don't think Kira even remotely likes me. Like at all. And Liam tends to hangout with Scott. So I don't really know what I am or what I'm doing." Stiles spoke woefully, without a flicker in his eyes from his plate that was half empty. 

"I'm sure you'll figure it out," Derek spoke.

Stiles shot him a glare. "Where the hell have you been anyways?" 

Derek thought about whether to abort mission or try to at least make sense of Stiles' question. 

"Um here?" 

Stiles sneered. "You know what I mean." 

"Oh." Of course Derek knew that. Once the alpha male, always the alpha male. "I was taking care of some business."

"Taking care of business or bodies? You know, your whole first instinct to kill, second to dig and bury." The sarcasm and wit haven't been affected in Stiles' brain.

"Stiles." His dad said. "Leave the guy alone, he came because he wanted to help."

"No dad, I wanna know where he was for the last freaking year and then decides to just show up." Stiles tried to say calmly, half succeeding at the task.

Derek sat back in the seat. "Fine. You wanna know where I was? I was helping Lahey find a new pack, seeing how you guys kind of ditched him. He went to England to meet with Jackson and then with some of his extended family. There. Now you're all caught up in the Derek Hale show." Derek grudges and crossed his muscular arms against his chest with a slight hint of attitude.

Stiles' interest seemed to skyrocket while his attention dwindled. "Wait, you saw Isaac? Is- is he okay or Jackson or --" He started to ramble.

"They're fine. Not sure I can say the same for you." 

Stiles heard the cold words trying to drown him. He finished up his spaghetti in silence as he could feel the glares he received from the werewolf and the older man. 

Stiles abruptly got up from his chair and took his dishes with him to the kitchen and washed his hands. He was fuming, but he needed to keep his cool. The phone fumbled in his pocket as he reached for it and checked the time.

1: 04 p.m.

Almost time for Scott to come over.

Stiles slipped on his sneakers and his sweatshirt. "I'm going for a walk." Before his dad could get a word in besides "don't go too far," Stiles was already out the door. 

The sheriff rubbed his forehead and contemplated his son's actions. "He just needs time." That was the best he could make of an apology for Hale.

Derek nodded. "I got the dishes." And so he got up.

Stiles walked down the driveway and saw his jeep. He was so damn tempted to go for a drive, just out far somewhere. Somewhere so so far away that Stiles could forget this place and everything that happened here. But no keys. Rookie mistake, they were in his room and his dad would catch him and know what he was planning to do so he continued his walk. He remembered his mom doing this, sadly. Sometimes, Stiles just wouldn't stop talking or brought home a disciplinary notice from school, or maybe it was some idiot at the store, or some unpaid bills that made her say, "I'm going for a walk," just like he had. Coping mechanism, it must it. He tucks his hands into his pockets and walks on the cracked sidewalk that he remembered breaking his nose off once when he fell off his skateboard. And there was a bush that was half grown and half destroyed from when he crashed into it with his jeep. And over there in the alley was where his dad caught him skateboarding and trespassing for the first time, mainly because of a noise complaint that took the sheriff there, only to find out it was Stiles fighting with some idiots from school in the upper grades. Good times. It took a few minutes before Stiles realized he had a grin on his face when he heard a familiar sweet voice of a certain sweet strawberry blonde.

"Stiles?" She asked from behind.

Lydia.

"Lydia? You guys still have an hour till school ends." Stiles smiled at her anyways.

"I had enough credits to graduate last year, free period." She pursed her lips. "I just wanted to stop by, we were worried," 

Stiles rubbed his nose, "uh yeah-- sorry 'bout that. I've been.. Occupied. Um I- we can go to my place if you want." Stiles looked incredibly tense.

"Well I mean, we could just walk. It seems like you would benefit from some fresh air. Talk to me." Lydia smiled and grabbed his arm and they continued the walk. Her hand slipped and tried to wrap around Stiles' but he hesitated and pulled away, but covered it up by itching his head. He didn't need to make Lydia feel bad on top of things.

He didn't need any of this actually.


	10. Pack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this Is my favorite chapter, I hope you enjoy this long awaited pack filled one! :-)

The strawberry blonde and the boy continued to walk on the sidewalk. Lydia's hair was down in perfect waves, bristly flowing with the rhythm of the air spinning around them. Third grade Stiles would be nervous, 10th grade Stiles would be amazed, but, he just couldn't get the feeling. It's as if he never spent hundreds of dollars on women merchandise for Lydia to choose the perfect gift, as if that kiss-- that one kiss never meant anything. Stiles wanted to punch himself in the face for it.

"So when did you leave the hospital?" Lydia asked, Stiles listened to the mixture of her voice and her boots cracking on the concrete.

Stiles scratched his head, as if he were racking his brain, searching for answer he should've known. He paused for a moment before answering,"This morning actually." 

"Is your dad home?" 

Stiles nodded his head. "So is Derek. I think he's staying so my dad can work." 

"Why can't your dad stay with you, on like temporary leave or vacation?" Lydia looked up at Stiles who she noticed was trying to avoid her stare.

Stiles sighed. "We uh.. We got the medical bills, it's a lot more than he can handle, and I still have to go back tomorrow for some tests," he shoved his hands in his pocket again.

Lydia stopped for a second, a light bulb gong off in her head. She gave Stiles a certain look.

"Lydia, no." He knew exactly what it was. "No Lydia,"

"Oh please please!" She hounded excitingly. "You guys could really use it more than I need designer handbags." Lydia smiled.

"No, please, absolutely not Lydia, no" Stiles was serious about this. He didn't want pity money.

"Stiles, let me help you guys, seriously I-" She was interrupted by the human.

"Lydia! No!" Stiles yelled out as he took a step back. She looked like a frightened deer in headlights. "I-I'm sorry, u know you're trying to help, but it's okay." He tried to remember the breathing techniques he learned at the first day in the hospital.

One, two.  
One, two.  
One, two.

Lydia sucked in her pride and smiled back, she knew Stiles was trying to calm down so she just had to be cautious of what she said. Because it was hard. It's hard for a seventeen year old boy with only a father to deal with all this shit. 

"Scott's coming over right?" Lydia broke the ice once again.

"Yeah. I think he's upset at me. I didn't ask anyone else though." Stiles looked at the ground as they continued venturing.

"Scott understands. It just might take him sometime to-- adjust. Same with the others." Lydia replied in understanding. She kept the conversation running by herself for about 10 minutes, proving how great a friend Scott was and what a tough place he's in right now until Stiles changed the subject when she started rambling. 

"I don't really know what me and Malia are anymore. We broke up and then I think we got back together and broke up again..?" There was hesitation and doubt in Stiles' voice. "Girls are hard, man." Stiles then said, as if he were talking to Scott.

"Try being one," Lydia joked with a grin, finally seeing one appear on Stiles' face. "She'll come around. They always do."

"Oh really, Miss 'I dated Jackson and then broke up with him when I found out he was a cynical revolting lizard demon'?" Stiles trailed with a snarky grin that made Lydia giggle and push him playfully.

"Hey, I'm not the one who's best friend is a werewolf," she retaliated with laughter.

"And I'm not the one who finds dead bodies more than kids find Waldo." Stiles finished the bit, satisfied with himself that he made it through long enough to actually enjoy it.

"Touché Stilinski." Lydia lifted hair strands that flee in front of her face. "Are you coming back to school anytime soon?" She pursed her lips.

Ugh. School. Every hormonal, anxious teenager's nightmare. Normally that wouldn't be Stiles, but now everything's changed.

"I don't know.. I wanted to go back on Friday. Gotta get the work done, start thinking about college. But I-i don't really know," Stiles blanked.

"You don't know, or you don't want a to?" Lydia questioned, figuring out how to steal Stiles' queen in his game of chess. "You can't let that stop you Stiles, you know that,"

"Yeah, yeah I do. I'm just.. I dunno' scared? Worried? Mortified? I think there's an entire dictionary written for this moment." He scratched his nose. 

"Don't tell me Stiles Stilinski is afraid of going back to school." She said prudently. 

"It's not that I'm Afraid" He received a glare from her telling him that he was before he could finish his sentence. "Of school itself. I'm afraid of what's going to happen, how people are gonna treat me like I'm some sort of.."

Freak.   
Spaz.  
Creep.   
Retard.  
Idiot.  
Mutant.

There were hundreds of words Stiles thought of it.

"Monster?" Lydia spoke, causing Stiles to perk his head up. 

"Not all monsters do monstrous things," Stiles finished up for her, knowing exactly what path she was driving down. 

"It'll be fine, what-- you have like two classes with me, one with Scott, and one with Malia and Kira." The girl reassured her friend.

"Yeah and then one by myself." 

"You'll be fine, trust me. And if anyone even tries to mess with you, Melissa is gonna have a few detention slips to sign for Scott after beating them up." Lydia sounded so sure that everything was going to be alright that Stiles just had to believe her. And he really wanted to. He really did.

A minute of silence accompanied them in the shadows as Stiles continued to think about school. Last time he was there, he ended up beating some idiot up and having a panic attack that put him in the hospital. Oh yeah, that was when he found out he had it. Stiles regretted nothing though.

"Stiles?"

"Hmm?" He replied in a cloud of his own thoughts.

"What do you wanna be after school?" Anything to help him get his mind off things would work, Lydia concluded.

"Hmm I don't know," Stiles was sure full of self doubt today. "I kinda wanna go into law enforcement. You know, after my dad."

Lydia chuckled and then smiled, a rosy tint forming around her cheeks. "Figured. You do more mystery solving then the entire county's officers out together!" She watched as a sheepish smirk grew on the corners of Stiles' mouth. 

"Well I do have an advantage," Stiles admitted.

"Oh god, what if like all of Beacon Hills knew about the supernatural and found it normal? How crazy would that be." She thought. Clearly, Lydia was reading too much Twilight. Team Edward, Lydia?

Stiles ran a hand through his hair. "Well let's just say the amount of unsolved cases would finally be less then the population of the state." He joked. Stiles liked joking. It had become a talent of his more than a distraction of reality. 

"What about you Lydia?" Stiles questioned. He'd always figured something super smart, like being the next Albert Einstein.

"Huh. I've never really thought about it. Maybe a doctor." Lydia questioned her own stability. She would make a good lawyer. Or maybe an actress, but she couldn't let her mind go to waste. 

"I can easily see a Fields Medal under your name in about ten years," Stiles was very adamant.

"Nobel."

"Huh?" Stiles snickered.

"Nobel. The Fields Medal is for mathematics." Lydia corrected him. And Stiles couldn't help but smile at her intelligent remarks.

She was right though, her work in medicine would earn her a Nobel Peace Prize.

Oh crap.   
Medicine.

Stiles pulled out his phone. It was 1:45 in the afternoon, Scott would be there at his house anytime. And the couple were in the middle of town after venturing so far south.

"Oh I'm- im supposed to take my medicine right now." Stiles stuttered in embarrassment. Poor little boy had to end his date short because he has to take his spasm drugs - he could just hear the guys at school saying it. 

Lydia gave him a sympathetic look, "I don't mind, I'll come along?" Stiles nodded. They had talked for so long they lost track of time. Stiles felt fine, but he couldn't risk having a seizure when Scott arrived. After a long while of silent walking, silent awkward walking, some cracked jokes and light small talk they arrived around 20 minutes later to the Stilinski residence. 

Stiles saw a familiar motorcycle parked on the side of the pavement.

Scott.

"He's here," Lydia said out loud of wha he was thinking.

Stiles opened the door, nervous to see Scott, only to open the door to find Scott, Kira, Liam, Mason, and Malia all staring at him.

"Stiles-- um you found Lydia I see," The sheriff said as he closed the door after him. He gave him a soft smile before Scott came towards him and embraced his best friend.

"Dude," Scott called out in happiness and patted Stiles on the back. While in the embrace, Stiles looked in front of him to see everyone staring at him, it just made him feel queasy.

"Um we- we brought some stuff," Kira came forward with a friendly smile and a box that Stiles could see had his favorite snacks and all Star Wars movies. Stiles took the box with shaking hands and genuinely smiled and thanked her. It was all so awkward as each one stared at the other. They were best friends damn it, why do they all of a sudden feel like strangers? The sheriff popped his head out of the kitchen where he and Derek were cleaning up. 

"You kids want anything?"

They all shook their heads with grimaces as they each took a seat at the dining table. And they continued to stare at each other in silence.

"So..." Liam said as the awkward 16 year old he was.

"So." Lydia imitated.

"Guys just say whatever the hell you're thinking." Stiles admitted. "I'm fine if that's what your wondering, seriously."

"That's- that's good Stiles," Scott replied, waiting for someone else to chime in. But no one did.

"What? Is there another supernatural baddie in town? What is it this time-- zombies?" Stiles started to ramble again in frustration that his friends were acting weird around him.

"Stiles-- we just wanna make sure you're okay." Malia stated. She looked tense as well, maybe she was thinking about the status of her and Stiles too.

"I'm fine, it's still me, the same ol' sarcastic Stiles," the teenager ran his hand through his messy, untidy hair again. 

"Dude we just wanna help you, you've been through a lot lately," Mason spoke calmly. He seemed more mature then anyone else there.

"I- I don't need help!" Stiles frustratingly answered, causing his dad to peek out from the kitchen again quietly.

"Guys." Lydia tried to tame the group. 

"We're making him feel worse not better," Scott quietly said, sighing at the end of the statement.

"Just.. Don't worry about me okay?" Stiles said when he finally got a grasp of his temper.

The group nodded as a whole. They could feel Stiles slipping out of their grasp like he was sand. It sucks watching your friend die doesn't it? 

Liam and Malia could hear another heartbeat in the house, an uncounted one. Malia tossed Liam a look, one that said "I don't know." Then she remembered what Lydia had told her earlier that week.

"So... Derek's here? Where the hell has he been to?" Malia tried changing to subject, giving an answer to Liam.

Stiles rubbed his nose again. "Yeah, he's staying while my dad works. I can't be trusted apparently," Stiles joked as he tried to shed some light.  
There it was again, using humor as a coping mechanism.  
Weird.

"Well, we really missed you at school," Scott said. "You and your imitations of Coach when he's not looking."

"Speaking of which," Liam pulls out a card from his jacket pocket. He slid it to Stiles who looked at it all doe-eyed. "It's from the entire lacrosse team and-" he pulled out another card. That's two for two for Liam. "That's from my dad who really likes you apparently. I was gonna check inside to make sure he actually wrote something but he wouldn't let me open it." Liam chuckled slightly as everyone watched with glee. They saw Stiles' face light up when he saw a lot of people actually cared about him.

Stiles opened up the first card from the team. He read a bunch of messy, but knowledgable notes from hormonal 17 and 18 year old peers, he didn't care much for except one that he found striking his interesting.

Stilinski. Next time run with the ball. Get better soon and get your ass on the field because I miss yelling at you. - Coach Finstock. 

Stiles found himself laughing lightly at it. He twiddled with the envelope of the card from Liam's dad at the hospital. He read the sweet note written on behalf him and the hospital staff he's gotten to know from the past 10 years. Stiles then lifted a little card that covered something, and for a moment, he swore he stopped breathing and his heart stopped working. Stiles' face was swooned with a red blushing color.

"Stiles, what is it?" 

Stiles put his thumb over the little card. Underneath his finger was a never seen picture of him and his mom when he had stayed with her at the hospital. He read the note next to it silently as he tried to keep himself from crying. 

Found this after digging through some files. Thought you might want to keep it. - Dr. Dunbar

"It's.. It's me and my mom. I thought I lost this picture when I was eight." Stiles bravely said and rubbed his eyes with his sleeves and brushed it off with a chuckle. He took a deep breath and sat the cards aside and stared at the picture. Malia, Kira, and Lydia found themselves smiling profusely. Scott fist pounded Liam. 

"Attaboy" Scott whispered to Liam as Mason gave him a playful punch. 

"Wow--" Stiles stopped for a second and let out another hearty laugh that lit up the room with a slight crack in his voice. All stress had seemed to disappear. "Thank you guys. Really i can't--" Stiles rubbed his face and couldn't stop smiling. It felt good to have friends like these. 

"You're pack Stiles." Scott said.

"We care about you more than you think," Malia followed the true alpha.

"And even though you're kick ass most of the time, we get worried when you're hurt. Like Scott says, you're pack." Lydia finished off. 

"For the time being, being kick ass can be your side job while you get better." Mason kidded, receiving a snicker from his best friend Liam. Derek, who was in the kitchen, could hear the conversation. The younger, naive Derek would've scoffed at the true alpha's idiocy of feeling sympathetic and for a human nonetheless, but Derek now has come to not hate Stiles' presence as much. It doesn't stop him from scowling at the kid when he deserved it though. That's Derek Hale for you.

"Now, with that said, why don't we make some popcorn, and watch some Star Wars?" Scott stood up and pulled out packs of microwaveable popcorn and then followed it with the DVD of the most recent Star Wars movie Stiles hasn't watched. 

"Oh my god, Duuude." Stiles grinned. "Um, let me just go to the bathroom." Stiles disappeared into the halls. 

Scott got up and retreated to the kitchen and eyed the sheriff while the gang got comfortable in the living room.

"Hey Scott," John greeted.

"Um can I speak to you.. In private?" Scott noticed Derek in the area. John nodded and went to a quite area outside of the kitchen. 

"Is something wrong, Scott?" The sheriff rose his eyebrows in concern. 

Scott chuckled. "No, no it's the opposite of that." He pulled a letter from the inside of his green jacket. Scott held the letter proudly in between his fingers. "This is from all of us," Scott looked at his quirky bunch of friends. "And our parents, and the entire lacrosse team. It's not enough to cover one of the bills, but maybe at least it'll help you guys a little." Scott smiled as he handed the envelope to the sheriff. It was encased with $700 in donations from just the friends and their family's and the lacrosse team. The sheriff couldn't believe it. He looked at Scott with wide eyes and hesitated to take it.

"Scott--" he paused a moment just to gather himself real quickly. "This is more than I can thank you for, I-i don't know what to say." The sheriff said.

"You don't have to say anything. We just wanted to help."

"Thank you so much," John said in his sincerest voice, and then tightly hugged Scott briefly. Scott smiled while giving him a nod, and then proceeded to the living room and met up with Stiles who came back from the bathroom. Scott threw his arm around Stiles as they made their way to a dignified spot on the couch. The sheriff went on to profusely thank the families in his mind as he put the popcorn to microwave. The movie was put into load as the gang started talking more comfortably now. 

"What the hell even is a Star Wars?" Malia asked.

"Wait a second- how- what- how can you not know what Star Wars is?" Stiles stuttered, flabbergasted at her announcement.

"To be fair, she was a coyote until the junior year. So..." Lydia defended her as she giggled.

"Ok I'll give you that one, considering I couldn't get Scott to watch it until last year. Right Scott?" Stiles replied and then looked at Scott who was still gleaming from his encounter with the sheriff. "You did watch it right Scotty?" 

Scott's face went blank and he went silent.

"Oh my god." Stiles exclaimed as everyone laughed. It felt really good to laugh. 

Really, really good.


	11. Star Wars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another late night chapter. I'm sorry this story is going by so slow. There are certain points I need to write in to flow with the climax of the plot which I can't do until these get written. But I promise we will get to interesting parts! I'm going to start speeding up the time a little hopefully. Also for those wondering, this is not Sterek. There are a lot of those and I really just wanted to focus on the pack in this fix, sorry if that's bad news! There is some Star Wars **spoilers** in this.

As the movie started, John popped the popcorn and made snacks for the teens. He eyed the envelope he hid underneath a box in the upper kitchen cabinet. Seven hundred dollars. That could pay for at least 4 months of utility bills, considering that it was only Stiles and himself who used the utilities in the house. Lately, before the accident Stiles was never really at home because the McCalls had always welcomed him over theirs after school while John worked. But that's four months of not having too worry about losing the house or getting cut off of the water or gas or heat, especially when it was going to get colder. Four more months of the house thanks to Scott and all of his effort. 

By the time the movie actually started, John had already put down buckets of popcorn, snacks, and drinks on the table in front of the teens. John and Derek retreated to the dining table after they finished their tasks. The door rattled only to open to the one and only, Melissa McCall. She was seated down after greeting two men but the teens were oblivious to the fact that she had even come in.

Melissa sat down with multiple papers in her hand. 

"Alright," Melissa smiled as she looked through the papers. She handed a form to the sheriff. "This is scheduled for tomorrow at 9 a.m. He can't eat or drink anything at least 8 hours before and he should shower if he hasn't." The sheriff nodded in agreement, sounded easy enough. "Um but he can't take anymore of the anti-convulsants until then."

Derek chimed in, "why not?"

John glared at her, "it's literally the only thing keeping Stiles sane at the moment."

"The doctor who's running it, um he wants to induce a seizure during the EEG so they can see what's going on in his brain during it." Melissa explained. 

John frowned and rubbed his forehead. "I don't really think that's a good idea, Stiles will just oppose to it anyways."

"It's the only option they have at the moment, really it can help," Melissa tried to persuade him. Whatever information they can get will help the doctors. 

Really. 

Because we all know what's going to happen to the last doctor who tried to help.

"I-I don't know, Melissa," John read the paper he was given and read about other options. Something about sleep deprivation, hyperventilation, and using meds that interfere with the anticonvulsants. Brutal. John didn't want to sleep deprive Stiles anymore then he was, and he couldn't make him hyperventilate in fear that he actually has a panic attack during it. He put his arm to the back of his neck and leaned on it in frustration. "What if- what if he takes his adderall?"

"That's what caused his last one, right?" Derek asked. The sheriff nodded in reply. 

"That can work. But Stiles took it a few minutes before the seizure right? So we'll give it to him there, which means he can take a dose of the anticonvulsants before bed and not in the morning." Melissa explained and then expanded with the procedure of the test. The sheriff signed off with his consent. Melissa then pulled out the MRI scans.

"It's getting worse isn't it," Derek gruffly said.

"It's not a trick this time.. It's.." The sheriff couldn't even finish. 

"Genetics. By the rate Stiles' symptoms are showing, they said he has two years max." Melissa said as she tried to stay as professional as she can. 

"Two years?" John pained. "He's not even eighteen yet, he's still a kid!" He tried to lower his voice as Melissa shot her hand over his. 

"I know I know, I'm sorry, I can't even tell you how sorry I am." Melissa's comforting words were another punch in the face.

At that moment, Scott heard the sheriff's last exclaim, as did Liam, and Malia. They all exchanged glances before Stiles noticed.

"What? What does that mean?" Stiles asks them, imitating their expressions sillily.

"Um, nothing, nothing. I'm just gonna get a drink of water." Scott covered it up with a smile and walked towards the kitchen, and looking back only to find Stiles focused on the movie. Scott made his way towards the adults.

"Mom?"

"Scott, honey --" Melissa hesitated for a second and glanced at the sheriff. "Please just go finish the movie, be with your friends alright?" She asked solemnly, as if it was the last time Scott was going to be with them ever again.

Derek refused to even acknowledge Scott. What an ass. 

"Stiles has two years?" Scott let them know that his werewolf hearing knows it. 

"Scott, sweetie go sit down," Melissa tried to leer him away from the conversation. 

"Scott, listen to your mother." Derek's brooding voice sounded.

"Mom, answer me!" He shot back at them.

"Scott, please just go!" Melissa said in an alarming voice that sounded so broken and so small and so hurt and so lost.

"No, we deserve to know!" Scott can't hold in anything back and caused everyone from the movie to run into the scene.

"Scott, what's going on?" Lydia asks.

"Melissa?" Stiles wonders. Of course she's here. It's because of Stiles, not like she was just dropping in to have a lovely conversation with her only son.

"Guys it's nothing, finish the movie please," The sheriff pleaded that they wouldn't see him in such a state, but Lydia saw it first. He looked just like how her mother did when she first landed in the hospital before Eichen earlier that year. She knew exactly what it was. 

"Guys lets go," Lydia turned to the group and gave them a glare that said "abort mission abort misson." They all recieved the message and immediately retreated with the exception of Scott. Stiles was literally pulled away by Malia who was trying to comfort him.

"It's because of me," he just kept repeating it over and over before they made it to the living room.

"It's not Stiles, it's not!" Malia tried to get it through his thick skull. He looked lanky, and weak. He definitely showed it. Purples and maroons shrouded underneath his eyes in desperation. His body didn't move the same way anymore. He was slow, taking his time. Maybe he was just tired, Lydia reminded herself. Having seizures must not be energy relieving. The entire experience has been traumatic. Maybe he was just tired, she had to say it hundreds of times to make her believe it, but she still couldn't. This was the beginning of the end.

Malia and Lydia sat on either side of Stiles and tried to distract him from the absence of his best friend. Thanks to his ADHD riddled personality, it wasn't that hard when all they had to say was, "look! It's R2-D2!" When clearly it was BB-8. 

Scott was still arguing with Melissa. The sheriff was still on the brink of despair. Derek was still trying to keep his cool at Scott. Derek would've killed, literally killed, to get a few minutes of his life back of where he yelled and cursed at his own mother before the fire, and it infuriated him that Scott has problem doing it. 

"Scott I can't tell you what's going to happen, it's just faith," Melissa put a hand on his shoulder. Not one of those caressing motherly love gestures, but a mixture of that and "you're crossing the Rubicon and you need to calm down." In other words, check yourself before you wreck yourself.

Scott felt his fangs start to grow in, but he needed to calm himself down. So he did, and it took every ounce of willpower to not break and crumble, even for an alpha.

Without saying anything, Scott rushed to leave back to the movie.

Melissa quickly packed all the stuff up when she saw John rub his face constantly in a stressed state. "Uh-I uh will get back to you tomorrow, I'll get this to the office. Take care okay? And call me, if anything happens, doesn't matter when just please do when you want to." And with that, the nurse gave them a small smile and left the room that previously almost spiraled into an oblivious room and went back to the hospital. 

The sheriff looked at the time. 

4:45 p.m.

"I gotta get to work," he got up. "You don't have to stay now that everyone here, I think they're staying for dinner so I'm going to try to swing over some food during a break." 

"I don't mind." Derek said, pretending not to care when he did a lot, like a lot. "I'll get dinner covered too," he offered up like the nice civilian he was. Yeah, let's go with that.

"Thank you Derek," it was three words, but to Stilinski and Derek it meant a lot more than a 1600 page novel. The sheriff went on to get ready for another long work night. 

"Scott what was that about?" Stiles drove his focus to Scott as he took a seat next to him. 

"Um.. It was nothing." He sat a good distance away from Stiles and right next to Liam and Mason. "Don't worry about it dude." Scott finished off with a cool smile. But Stiles is gonna just start thinking and over thinking and talking and then it turns into worrying and then obsessive compulsions after the five stages of grief, or five stages of Stiles.

"Stiles, look you're gonna like this part!" Liam tried to distract him once again, and it worked for a few minutes but every now and then, Stiles would shoot Scott a dirty look. Stiles then heard the distinct jingling of keys and jumped. He walked out to find his dad holding the door handle as he saw Stiles. 

"I gotta go to work bud, late night tonight," the sheriff said as he greeted his son goodbye. Stiles wanted to object so damn much, he didn't want to force his dad to work, and when Stiles leaned in for a hug, he didn't want to let go. But somebody's gotta pay the bills. Somebody's gotta keep a roof over their heads, food on the table, clothes on their body. John was about to close his door when he stopped. "If anything is wrong, call me ok Stiles? If I don't pick up after two rings, call Melissa. Love you." He shut the door behind him.

"Love you too, dad." Stiles said to himself.

The sheriff would be keeping his phone on him all night today.

When Stiles came back, he passed his spot he was sitting in and instead, sat in a vacant spot next to Scott. "Hey Scotty."

"Hi Stiles," this was an odd conversation.

"You uhh.. Wanna tell me what the hell kind of soup you brewed on with your mom in there?" Stiles smirked a little, knowing that his teachers would be proud at his figurative language. 

"Not really." Scott laughed a little.

"Weeeeeeell are you guys all good now?" Stiles stretched his syllables oddly.

"I guess, if it's not, I'll fix it when I get home." Scott says and he feels Stiles relax a little. He still reeks of anxiety and prescriptions drugs but that's okay because It won't wear no matter how many showers he took. 

The movie progressed farther and farther, with jokes cracked in the middle and discussing of how that part where Qui-Gon tells Jar Jar Binks, "Your ability to speak does not make you intelligent," related to this idiot at school earlier that day who mouthed off to the teacher. The crew started to wind down as exhaustion set in from a long day. Everyone started to watch the movie just for Stiles, but avidly got into it as it went on. But Stiles' eyelids started to droop and his body got an inch closer to Scott's every now and then. Scott didn't mind though, there were several moments in their lives when Stiles either fell asleep or passed out on top of him, including that one time where Stiles passed out on top Scott at practice after sprinting miles. Every now and then, Scott would lay his hand on Stiles' and try to leech pain. Sometimes there would be, sometimes there wouldn't be. And the times there were, it didn't hurt Scott physically, so he felt better knowing Stiles wasn't in any physical pain. Stiles sometimes would randomly open his eyes, startled and saying, "Coach, i'm awake, I'm awake," which made Scott laugh a little as the rest of the group. 

But the fact that Stiles could fall asleep during his absolute favorite movie terrified Scott. Because if he could do this during his favorite movie, he could do it to anything anywhere. And that's a scary thought.


	12. Nothing Kills A Man Like Own Head

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter like this and then I think I'm gonna do a time jump to get to a point in the plot I need before I get to the climax of the story. Thanks for staying with :-) I added a chapter to one of my other fics so that's why this one took so long for an update. The title and the same quote is from Twenty One Pilots' Trapdoor.

The night continued to pass on, full of laughter and good times. Stiles would doze off for five minutes at a time and then wake up again, complaining that he might miss a good part.

Lydia threw Scott concerned glances to make him do something.

"Stiles dude have you been sleeping at all?" Scott tapped him on the shoulder softly. 

"When I can," Stiles simply answers. And by that he means no, of course not. Stiles hasn't had a decent sleep since the second grade. It's getting harder for him to sleep now. At night, he kinda just starts to make up scenarios and overthink in his mind. His eyes might be closed, his body might be still, but Stiles' brain is always on a constant rollercoaster that only goes up. So the gang let their friend doze off in between movie scenes until dinner time came around, in which Derek had ordered two pizzas. They woke up Stiles who was pretty grumpy but in retrospect he was starving like a bear that had come out of hibernation.

They all sat down around the dining table and watch Stiles sway slightly until Scott held onto his shoulder tightly until Stiles sat down in a chair. He rubbed at his eyes and Lydia's eyes trailed when he ran his hands through his hair. She never realized how gentle he actually was, but the reality was he's dying. And they can't stop it. It's genetics, it's not a trick this time. It kinda made her die on the inside, the fact that she can't help just kills her. Stiles couldn't focus enough just to even put the pizza on his gaze, until a slice was slapped down onto a plate and put in front of him.

"You should eat it Stiles," he heard Derek say. 

Stiles silently took a bite from the tip of the pizza. Usually, his taste buds would've delightfully danced with joy with the savory taste of saucy pizazz and cheesy flavor palette that is pizza. He wanted to continue eating, he knew he wasn't eating enough, but he didn't have the motivation to. It was 8 p.m. It still gave him about 4 hours before he has to stop eating for the tests tomorrow. And his friends had to go home because it was still a school night, sick Stiles or not. Stiles took another small bite as the others made small talk before he pushed his plate away from him. 

"Not hungry?" Liam asked him softly as Scott drew his attention to Stiles.

"Guess not." He shrugged.

"Don't force yourself to if you can't," Scott added.

Stiles nodded impishly. They all frowned at the predicament, wishing their friend could eat as they saw him deteriorate in front of their eyes. A few minutes went by, and after some failed encouragement for Stiles to feed his body, the gang decided to clean up the mess they've accumulated over the past hours and then left. Stiles hugged Scott, with one of those half handshake half back pat that males seemed to love to do. 

"We'll come back tomorrow okay dude?" Scott suggested and recieved a nod from Stiles, he was so unusually quiet. The gang all disappeared out the door and left Stiles with Derek for the night. The teen swung around the corner and into the kitchen, where Derek was leaning against the wall and reading a book. 

"You uh- can go home," Stiles awkwardly forced the words out of his mouth, even though he didn't want to be alone. He would prefer anyone to stays with him while his dad was gone. Even Derek Hale.

"Oh you mean that half charred house in the woods that I haven't been in for the last few months? Or my loft that seems to get destroyed every few days by rabid werewolves?" Derek snarled, trying to be funny but failing when Stiles reacts badly.

"I was just fucking trying to be nice, you dick," Stiles whispered not so quietly, because a certain Alpha could hear it.

"What?" Derek's eyes lifted off the page and he raised an eyebrow.

Stiles' facial expressions softened up.

"Oh my god s-sorry I don't know why I said that," Stiles apologized profusely when he realized what he said. He walked quickly towards his room, where he planned to stay in until morning until Derek followed him. The boy felt it coming, he felt the storm brewing inside of him, engulfing his heart and drowning in his thoughts. He needed the picture. He needed the picture. Stiles walked quickly down the hall as Derek stalked him and Stiles shut the door before Derek could stop him. He just needed a second to think, to reminisce about his semi-crappy day today. About his semi-crappy behavior. Stiles needed to get a hold of himself before he slips through the cracks of his fingers. The doorknob clicked, signaling that the door was locked. 

Something Stiles has never done in a long, damn time.

"Stiles!" Derek hit the door, remembering what the sheriff told him about the door. "Stiles!" He repeated with a different concerned sense in his voice. "Stiles!" The words of the older werewolf echoed the third time. 

"Just go! I know you don't fucking care anyways, you're just like the rest of them! You're pitying me! Well I don't want your pity!" Stiles shouted his harsh words through the wall barrier and sat down against his bed on the floor. He sank to the floor and brought his knees up to his chest, his fingers got entangled in his hair with his beloved picture in between his fingers.

"Stiles open the door!" 

"Go home! Fuck all of this. I don't want you here!" Stiles perked up again when he became a little sane and realized what the hell he actually said. Why was he saying this? There was a minute of silence as Derek listened to Stiles heart rate pick up.

"Derek I'm sorry," Stiles hesitated and said quietly, knowing he was listening with his keen hearing.

"Open the door please, Stiles, I'm not mad or anything, just open the door." Derek tried to keep his own temper and frustration with the teen simmer down.

"Up and then push." Stiles said quietly.

"What?" 

"Pull the knob up and then push in." Stiles instructed as he sat still, calmer then he previous emotional wreck.

Derek did as told, then he realized that Stiles rigged it so that the door would still close, but not actually lock. 

He never actually locked the door.

Sure he closed the door, but he never actually locked it. 

Stiles was still scared.

"Y-you didn't lock the door?" Derek stammered as he stood in the doorway.

"I haven't since middle school." Stiles refused to look at him, ashamed of what he yelled at the one person who was trying to help him at the moment. "I can't I guess, maybe I'm afraid, maybe I feel safer knowing that my dad can easily come in whenever."

Derek sat down close to him. Stiles' profile looked like a drawing on a canvas, pale as can be with exaggerated dark circles under his eyes and rosy cheeks and a tinted nose and blissful lips that talked more then Stiles' wished. Stiles was a piece of artwork. But art should disturb the comfortable and comfort the disturbed. 

Derek thought about it for a second because in a way it made sense, but in others it did not. Then he noticed the picture wedged in between Stiles' fingers. It was sad to see that Stiles' fate was written as with the same plot as his mother's.

"I know you didn't mean to say those things. I know it's not you, I know it's going to happen again, and I know we're gonna have this talk again." Derek broke the ice and then paused when Stiles looked up him with eyes that seemed to have no sense of empathy, but if you really look at those brown eyes you'll find it. "What I don't know is how you're only seventeen and you have won more battles than a 90 year old veteran of the Vietnam War has." 

"79." Stiles answered. 

"What?" Derek gave him a weird look, saying 'what?' has become a talent of his apparently.

"79. If he went when the war started in 1955 when he was 18, then there's no where he could be 90." And of course, that was the only detail Stiles had paid attention to. But Derek was glad as he chuckled because it changed the subject.

"On the bright side," Derek brought one knee up and put a hand that rested on it casually. "There aren't any revolting demon monsters that could potentially rip Beacon Hills to shreds at the moment."

"You guys are lucky for that," Stiles chuckled.

"Oh how so? Please enlighten me Stiles." Derek kidded.

"Well your super sleuth is out of commission for one. And that's all the valid argument I need." Stiles gave a grin, something that he hasn't been doing enough lately. Derek smiled back. He noticed the picture in Stiles' hand lower to the ground when Stiles brought his hand down.

"Was that your mom?" Derek asked, trying to keep Stiles distracted from not destroying himself in his own thoughts.

Stiles looked down at the woman with the curly brown hair and contagious smile that could light up the room. Oh how he longed to just hug her for one more time, or just to make her laugh. "Um yeah-" he swallowed hard. "Um this was before she left. I was eight." 

Derek looked longingly at the picture before it started to get creepy. "You must miss her."

"I used to cry whenever someone reminded me of her. Had panic attacks until I was so tired that I fell asleep." Stiles tried to laugh it off, even though Derek could see him ready to burst in tears. "Man I was pathetic."

"But you learned to cope," Derek suggested, possibly thinking about the fact that he never actually got disclosure about his own family who all died in the fire.

"I regret not talking about it. It got really bad during the freshmen and sophomore year, high school you know?"

"Wasn't so long ago," Derek answered simplistically to keep Stiles talking. Because Derek's biggest mistake too was not talking about it. Or not having anyone to talk about it too, because no one had given a shit about Derek. But Stiles- oh man, Stiles was more loved than he thought. 

Stiles laughed a little,"It was the whole 'sneaking off into the forests at night because my best friend's a werewolf with a girlfriend who's dad is hunting him and a psychotic 20 something year old criminal who scared the shit out of us' phase. My dad thought I was trying to cope in a weird way, that I joined a gang or started drugs." Genuine hearty laughs boasted from the teen. "Like did I look like I was strong enough to join a gang? Like I know my buzz cut was a bold move, but c'mon drugs? Oh and you were the psychotic 20 something year old criminal who scared the shit out of us."

Derek laughed hard. "Oh really? I thought you were talking about some haywire teacher who refused to take back your detention." 

"Ok to be fair, half of those detentions weren't even me, just some cover up of crazy supernatural shit in which I was a scapegoat." 

"I can just imagine you going to Gerard when he was the principal like 'hey so a Kanima just completely shredded up the library and broke the ceiling not me'," Derek did his best imitation of the higher pitched 16 year old Stiles Stilinski. 

"Try explaining that to the administration board, now that you need some supernatural power to convince them." Stiles replied as he seemed to soften his grip on the picture as it swayed back and forth next to him until it fell still. 

"Right. Well in the end, school sucks. Plus this is your last year, so it's not so bad." 

"Yeeeaaaahh well," Stiles prolonged the syllables. "We're not normal teenagers, so no promises." Stiles spoke truthfully. What really hit Derek was that Stiles said it in such a way that just shouts 'help me'. Because in reality, who knew if Stiles even had a year, or two years like Melissa said.

He's not even eighteen yet. He's still a kid.

Derek sighed. He looked at the time which was past 8:30. "Well, I'm guessing you have to get up early tomorrow, so I'll let you get some sleep." He got up and as did Stiles who took the picture with him. 

"Good night Stiles,"

"Good night." Stiles paused as he dug through his drawers. "Derek?" He looked back at the door way. 

"Yeah?" 

"Don't shut the door all the way please," Stiles asked. So Derek didn't.  
He left a crack between the door and the post.

Stiles put on some comfortable clothes and hid away his picture from Dr. Dunbar into his wallet. He couldn't stop smiling at how happy his mom looked.

Stiles got into bed and laid there for about 2 hours, all alone to his thoughts. He started overthinking obviously. He was thinking about his friends, about the pity, their constant worry about whether he passed out, stopped breathing, or was just asleep. And Scott poor Scott had to be burdened with Stiles. And Malia and Lydia. He liked Lydia, sure.  
But he still loved Malia, but he didn't think Malia loved him back. Ugh and school, he was pretty sure he wasn't going to last until the end of the year. He was almost certain he would have "R.I.P M. Stilinski, loved friend, son, and detective. 1998-2016," as his senior quote. But somehow, he was okay. Somehow. Oh my god and the bills. How were they gonna pay the bills? 

Nothing kills a man like a his own thoughts.

Stiles didn't actually sleep that night. He just couldn't fall asleep damn it. He noticed Derek would stop by every hour or so and Stiles would pretend he was sleeping. Then he realized his dad was home and Stiles turned on his phone to see the time.

1 A.M.

Shit. 

He could hear the sheriff thanking Derek and inviting him to stay for the night, to which Derek refused then obliged at last. By the next hour, both of them were asleep because Stiles saw that his room became darker because they shut off the hallway light that brightened the area. 

Stiles would snooze for a few minutes only to wake up 10 minutes later at the max. He didn't fall asleep until 4:35 in the morning. It was such an amazing feeling until he woke up 30 minutes later and couldn't fall back asleep. And because the universe loves to screw Stiles Stilinski over, by the time Stiles could finally shut his eyes, his dad knocked on the door and opened it up to tell Stiles to wake up.

"Hey kid," His dad was already dressed and sat at the foot of the bed. 

"Hey dad," Stiles groaned. Well then.

"Did you get a good nights sleep?" 

"Uh yeah, actually, it was good. I feel refreshed, very refurbished like a well oiled machine," Stiles replied with a grin. And then Stilinski denial begins. 

"Alright, well get dressed, um shower- we gotta get to the hospital in 30 minutes. We'll get breakfast after, okay?" Sheriff Stilinski left Stiles to get ready. He noticed how much darker the circles underneath his eyes got and grew concerned for his son.

Stiles looked in the mirror. He saw it too, he saw how he looked like he popped out of the Michael Jackson Thriller video.

Damn.

He popped into the shower and came out smelling better and feeling a little better, but still was incredibly tired. Well isn't that great? Stiles quickly changed into new pants and a flattering black shirt with his blue hoodie pulled over it. He groomed his hair so he could look just a little bit normal and continued out into the hall and waited for his dad when he saw Derek Hale reading his book as he sipped coffee. Derek was in different clothes so Stiles knew he went back home to his half charred house or his loft that was lacking of rabid werewolves. 

Stiles checked his texts from Scott as he waited.

Scott: Hope everything goes great today dude. We'll swing by a bit later today, big test Lydia's helping me study for.

Stiles: Thanks, and it's fine whatever.

He checked another text.  
It was from Malia.

Malia: Can I swing by after school today? I wanna talk.

Stiles' felt his balls get kicked up into his throat, that did not sound good. He had to take a second to pick up his heart after it just fell into pieces.

Stiles: Sure.

Good. Attaboy Stiles. Short and concise. Stiles thought. Just like my life after Malia comes over. 

Ouch.

And then his dad was ready, so he left without even saying good morning to Derek and he waited in he car before John finally drove away to the hospital.


	13. Testing Testing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for this longer chapter! I did not enjoy writing this, it was a bit painful but I hope you guys enjoy reading it! I did a lot of research about the EEGs and medical stuff so excuse me for any mistakes, you'll learn more in the next chapter with pack. I just needed to write this chapter like this because it serves as a plot point for the next few chapters. :-) and no, this fic is not sterek I'm sorry, and no supernatural is involved.

The car ride to the hospital was a slow, and quiet one. Stiles caught himself multiple times as his head slipped along the window. His father threw several glances before saying something.

"Stiles, how many hours did you sleep last night? Honestly?"

Stiles shrugged "mm'dunno. I guess I didn't sleep at all."

"Did you take your medication?" The sheriff followed up. He hoped he did, even though the test would be more accurate if Stiles didn't. 

"Shit, I forgot." Stiles said quietly. He did the counting the fingers thing again as The Sheriff analyzed his son's actions.

"That's.. That's okay. We'll get you some there." 

Stiles held his fingers out in front of his eyes, 

one, two.

three, four, five.

six, seven.

eight, nine, ten.

Ten fingers. No nightmares, no panic attacks, just Stiles and his ten fingers. 

John never told Stiles about the whole 'not taking meds so he can take adderall and have a seizure' plan because he didn't want to frighten him, but they had to get it done. There was a long awkward silence that grew in between the two.

"Uh Derek's gonna be staying over for a while," John quietly said as he looked back to see Stiles' face looked tense as soon as he dropped the bomb. Stiles tried to forget the 'bonding' that he and Derek had last night. You know, after he screamed at the guy. "Is that gonna be a problem?"

"N-no," Stiles stuttered at first. "Why would it," he said plainly.

"Well I don't know.." The sheriff seemed to be going off path. "Just seems like you and Derek--"

"Dad, you're conducting a train right now and you're so close to causing a wretched derailment," Stiles busted out, knowing exactly where he was going with that. He pinched his fingers together to show him exactly how close he was.

"Alright, just checking," The sheriff focused as he pulled onto the freeway, getting closer to the hospital.

Stiles could see his own face in the rear view mirror, he saw that appalling facial expression he made that made him laugh on the inside. He thought his dad was trying to humor him.

"Dad."

"Yeah son?" The sheriff leaned in towards the glass so he could see as he merged lanes to get to the exit for the hospital. 

"When mom was sick- it-" Stiles paused a second when he thought his dad was going to crash because for a split second, John gave him a glare and then returned to driving very cautiously. "It wasn't as quick as me, I noticed it so there's no point in protecting me."

John tried to not look disturbed by Stiles' revelation. He tried to pretend that he heard wrong, but he knew Stiles was right. Like he always is. He sighed before saying, "Well, Stiles, they say you're like either a medical mystery, or a rare case, your symptoms-- they are a lot different than your mom's and I think it's important that you know that, but that's why we're getting professional help."

"Oh you mean like that dipshit of a professional Dr. Hayes?" Stiles got a weird look from his dad that clearly said, 'language buddy.' Then Stiles continued when his father rose his eyebrows.

"You knew?"

"What kind of professional gives a dementia patient Olanzapine? Dad- you know from experience, you literally find kids from school tossed up on a street curb because they overdosed on this stuff. I didn't realize what it was until before you took me for breakfast when I read it." Stiles explained with his usual crazy hand gestures that nobody ever understand. He was frustrated that his father almost gave it to him, he could've potentially killed his own son.

"And that's why you didn't want to take it." 

"That's why I didn't want to take it." Stiles reiterated. John rubbed his face in frustration.

"I'm sorry- next time, we'll discuss medications together, okay? You should be as comfortable taking them as I am with you taking them. No more one sided decisions, we both talk to each other, and actually talk it out. Deal?" John explained as he pulled up into the parking of the hospital.

"Deal."

"One more thing--" John stopped Stiles before he hopped out of the car. "That means you have to accept our help, getting help isn't a sign of weakness it's a sign of care and family. Okay?"

"Okay, dad. But I bathe and dress myself!" Stiles made it a clear point.

"No promises." His father snickered quietly as they continued to crack jokes on something that soon would become a problematic scenario.   
\--  
Stiles was greeted by many familiar nurses and doctors who had all helped him. As his dad was talking to Melissa, Stiles trailed off when someone caught his eye. Liam's stepfather.

"Hey Dr. Dunbar," Stiles awkwardly came up to the man who seemed busy as he wrote down on some files. Immediately, Stiles regretted doing so because he worried he was bothering the doctor.

"Stiles-- it's so nice to see you up," Dr. Dunbar perked up and gave a genuine smile and stopped what he was doing. "I hope things have been going well. Are you scheduled for the EEG?" Being one of the head doctors, Dunbar made it a point that Stiles would be cared for, seeing that he's like a brother to his son, Liam.

"Uh yeah," Stiles wrangled with his fingers anxiously. "But that's not what I wanted to talk about."

"Oh? Is something wrong? Did something happen to Liam?" His eyes drew concern at the teenager.

"No actually," Stiles chuckled. "Um I-i wanted to say thanks for the card, I thought I lost that picture so long ago I completely forgot about it." Stiles thanked the man in his gracious efforts to give him back a material memory of him and his mother.

"Oh-" Dunbar's smile grew back. "Of course, I mean it was laying in the file so I only thought it was fitting." 

Stiles' father called to him when he was done with the papers. "Uhm, yeah, I really appreciate it.. Thanks." He looked back to his dad. "Gotta go do that test now."

Dunbar gave him a nod, and his facial expression made Stiles feel so loved and warm on the inside he wished the feeling wouldn't go away. "See you Stiles."

Stiles walked away with a sense of dignity and pride. It was kind of weird how a simple card and a picture had made him feel like a million bucks, it's been long since he felt like that. Melissa gave him a hug as he walked over, and when she asked him how he was doing, he obviously said well. Not good. Of course he didn't say good because then he would've had to correct himself. They took him into a private patient room and asked him to take off his shoes and shirts.

As Stiles did that, Melissa pulled the sheriff to the side.

"Did he even sleep last night John?" Melissa's voice sent concerned tendrils that stabbed the older Stilinski.

"Not even a bit," he sighed. "And he forgot to take the anticonvulsants." 

Melissa crossed her arms and cleared her throat. "Well they decided that it's best for Stiles to take the adderall since it's known to interfere, and then he has to sleep after it. So guessing at his deprivation, that'll be a fair simple task."

The sheriff leaned in and whispers, "Do you really think this is a good idea? I mean- what if, what if something bad happens, what if he can't stop it or gets out of control." 

"The man who's running it is a progressional, he's trained to deal with the seizures."

"The last professional we saw almost killed him." John countered.

"John. Don't worry, if anything worsens, we have our means to stop it, okay? Let's just worry about the bigger picture. This test could potentially answer all of our questions. Okay? Trust me, it's fine." Melissa put a hand that caressed his shoulder lovingly as they both entered the room, closing the door behind them. They found Stiles laying in the bed shirtless, his bare muscles exposed. It wasn't that he looked bad, it was just his muscles on his abdomen were starting to lose a teeny tiny bit of definition because of how weak his body is becoming. But for someone as sick as Stiles, he still looked incredibly fit. The man, Dr. Rhodes, explained to Stiles how the test was going to work.

"Okay, Stiles. So what we're doing here is we are going to take these electrodes, and place them on your scalp. That way we can see what's going on in your brain and we can tell in which area it's going on in. We also want to keep these monitors on your heart to see if it's affecting anything. Does that sound alright?" The man looked a little like Parrish, but that was the only person Stiles could think of to compare. Stiles nodded in agreement, sure, why not? Who the hell wouldn't want metal wires on their head so they can look just like hell boy? "All we're gonna ask you to do is just sleep, can you do that for us?" Rhodes asked as he received another dreaded nod from the teenager. Stiles watched as he watched the man who seemed to be measuring his head. He must've looked ridiculous, and Stiles hated every second of the ridicule but he had to do it. But after waiting a while, he started to get incredibly tired, must've been from the lack of sleep for about twenty four hours being the genius he was. After a meticulous process of measuring and marking, the doctor had placed 16 wires all over his head. Most of them weren't visible underneath his long grown hair, thank god for that, except for the two on the temples of his head that stood out like sore thumbs. On his chest, they padded down some wires on the area that his heart sat under. Melissa unexpectedly took Stiles' left pointer and middle finger and entangled them in some pieces of what looked like metal hidden with fabric and some wires that fed out to the same monitor that the wires on his chest lead to. It had something to with blood pressure, Stiles wasn't listening. All he knew was that Stiles was more plastic and metal than human at the moment.

"Sweetie, we also need you to take this," Melissa came to him with a cup of water and one small white pill that had a 5 on it. The sheriff looks intensely at the two's encounter, knowing Stiles is going to catch on.

"This kinda looks like adderall-" Stiles played around with the tablet in his fingers, studying it precariously. 

"It'll help during the test Stiles," Melissa gave a sweet smile to cover up the fact that it really was Adderall, just a different brand Stiles was used to taking. He felt kind of forced to take it when she handed him the cup of water. John tried not to break with Stiles caught his eye in his gaze line. He gave a soft simple smile to his son before watching him down the medication with a slug of water. Melissa took the empty cup back and the man started to run the test. John knew what was coming, he knew it was gonna be bad because that's just Poor Stiles' life. He looked at the lines that the EEG was producing on the screen. It sort of reminded Stiles of the lie detector he tried with Scott one year back at the station when they snuck into the DA's office. 

"Okay, okay," The doctor murmured to himself as he watched the activity. "There are 16 lines, one for each electrode in a different place. When the line is straight and consistent, it's going normally. What we are looking for is a spike that shows an abnormal flow of electrodes and neurons in Stiles' brain." Rhodes pointed at the screen and showed all three. 

Stiles listened intently as he started to feel weird. Not tired, but weird. There was no possible way to explain the feeling. It was like when your dreaming that your falling mixed in with that moment when your teacher unexpectedly calls you in class and you get that pit in your stomach. He had this taste in his mouth, something like iron, he couldn't quite pin it but it was so unusual, such a sense of euphoria. Stiles unknowingly glared at his father who stepped closer to him. But Stiles felt like he's never met the man, but he seemed oddly familiar.

Everything was fuzzy. He felt his entire body and his muscles go rigid and for a split second, he couldn't breath. He let out an raspy groan before welcoming the darkness in the corners of his eyes. A few seconds later, he opened them. And then everything started shaking in front of him.

He heard the adults call out his name, he heard them re-assuring him that it was going to be alright. First, it started with his fingers that cramped. The convulsions then proceeded to work up his body as he legs vibrated slightly but his arms shook violently. His lip quivered erratically with a rhythmic pattern of twitching and blinking his eyes in between. Stiles' entire head bobbed over and over so fast it looked like he wasn't even moving. He seemed to be looking up towards at something until he saw his dad's face hover over him.

And then it hit him.

He was aware of the entire thing. Stiles was still conscious during the freaking seizure.

"Stiles? Can you hear us?" He heard Rhodes say, and he could. He actually could but Stiles couldn't say anything, he had lost all control he had over his body like a weak human being. Who the fuck loses their own body and control like you do Stiles? It was all he could think of. His eyes showed panic and fear, trying to hid the embarrassment as Sheriff saw it in his own son's gaze.

Stiles shook erratically, trembling with a slight groan every here and there as the seizure started to get more violent. 

"Stiles, look to the left if you can hear me," John said, knowing Stiles was aware because of the fright and panic in his eyes. Stiles exaggerated a look to the left to let his father know.

"He's aware," Melissa said, somewhat shocked because this doesn't really happen. But this is Stiles Stilinski, and the universe hates Stiles Stilinski; it's made it very clear.

Stiles' teeth clenched, forcing his mouth to close. He tried to avoid looking at his dad, because of the intense embarrassment because a seventeen your old can't control his own body. He arms bent and relaxed at the elbows repeatedly, causing stress in his muscles. His hips seemed to jerk out at times as he knees locked for a few seconds. The muscles released in his leg, only to lock and unlock his knee repeatedly. Melissa kept track of the time, so far it's been past two minutes. The doctor took the time to analyze Stiles' seizure and look at the data when he realized Nurse McCall had everything under control. 

"Stiles it's okay, just ride it out kid, ride it out," John reassured Stiles gently as he spoke above him in Stiles' eyes. Stiles' vision was clouded, but it was enough to see the fear on his own father's face as he watched his son convulse. The blinking and twitching started to get more rapid as Stiles' mouth opens again when his jaw hindges. The left corner of his mouth quivered as drool started to slowly gather in his own mouth. Stiles' head turned and ran up the pillow as his back arched in response to his brain's messed up signals. 

"Honey we got you, we got you Stiles," Melissa gave him a little hope as she pulled the wires that had tangled in his hand around so it wouldn't hurt him. More saliva pooled in Stiles' mouth and Melissa grabbed a bed pan and a towel. She put the towel to right of Stiles' face and with the help of the sheriff and the doctor, they turned Stiles carefully onto his side. The liquid poured out of his mouth before he could start choking on it. His arms were positioned out in front of him and were rigid, with a slight vibration as his thumb was tucked in between his middle finger and ring finger in a fist. 

"C'mon Stiles, pull out, pull out," Melissa prayed as his seizure hit past the four minute mark. The sheriff started to panic.

"Damn it I-i knew this wasn't a good idea!" He wanted to stab himself for putting Stiles into this position. "Stiles, Stiles you can still hear us, it's okay son." John tried to calm himself down. 

"How long are the seizures usually?" The doctor asked patiently.

"Usually the longest was 2 minutes, his- his last one was only half a minute" Stilinski managed to stammer. Stiles' seizure became prolonged, and more dangerous when he started to produce ugly rasping sounds. Panic flooded his eyes when he let go of short pants for air in an effort to relieve his body with oxygen that he was losing. The pants turned into sharp, shallow gasps soon. 

He couldn't breathe.

Immediately, Melissa brought down the oxygen mask and wrapped it around Stiles, who was wheezing severely. His convulsions didn't want to die down as the sheriff started to get frustrated and worried. 

"Somebody get hell out there and help my son!" He yelled out in aggravation. Stilinski was so damn close to breaking down right then and there, like full on crying hysterically and throwing a tantrum. Rhodes tried to calm down the sheriff as he held the mask tightly against Stiles' nose and mouth to get the oxygen into his body. Melissa ran out as his heart monitor started to beep, reveling with low blood pressure and not enough oxygen. She received a small nasal spray from a cart outside and came out running, only to find Stiles turning a greyish tone as the sheriff continued to yell. Melissa placed the spray up towards Stiles' nose, giving it four pumps in total. It was only a few seconds that the convulsions and trembling had slowed down to a complete stop. His painful gasps for air turned into heavy pants until overwhelming panic took over and passed out. Stiles' breathes became deep and silent while he was unconscious. Melissa wiped at the saliva remnants that dripped down his face. 

"Oh my god.. Oh my god," John chanted over and over with tears in his eyes. "He could've died. We could've lost him again. He could've died." 

Melissa had never seen Stilinski lose his cool like that, but if she was close to bawling her eyes in front of the doctor as she wiped her eyes, I guess that's what love does to you. Melissa half expected John to pull away when she embraced him, but he didn't. Instead, he just wrapped his arms around her and tried to redeem his pride back. "It's okay, his body is just taking a few minutes to readjust."

John pulled out of the hug when he heard Stiles groan slightly and was looking right at him with groggy eyes. 

"Dad." Stiles whispered so incredibly quietly and weakly.

"Stiles, son you're okay, just close your eyes okay? You are tired, sleep, okay?" John had to say okay three times just to make himself believe that Stiles was okay. But he wasn't. And everybody has got to accept that at one point. Stiles let in as a victim to his exhaustion and shut his eyes. Melissa helped position him into a comfortable position on his back, with the wires out of the way.

The sheriff doesn't know if Stiles can take anymore of this.


	14. Three Words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another late chapter, sorry folks! Hope you all enjoy this, especially Stalia fans. :-) no hate for other ships though!

Melissa kept an eye on an unconscious Stiles to make sure his heart was still pumping and his lungs were still filling. She put her hand on his chest, looking for the heave of his body that seemed to do it roughly at some points when his heart raced, but then it calmed down. She listened as the doctor explained what was going on.

Rhodes pointed to different spikes that the lines made on he screen, showing him that the pattern of disturbance was constant and coming from the same area. "You see here? All these spikes? They're are showing the increase of abnormal brain activity all in the same area, on the frontal lobe. It's separate from the frontotemporal dementia, but it's actually deriving from the head injury."

Melissa stroked his hair cautiously, listening to his deep breaths. "So it's not epilepsy?"

"No, technically yes, but not really. What's going on here though, is the dementia and seizures are clashing, and that's why Stiles' symptoms are so odd. What is his behavior been like lately?" 

"He's uh.. Been really tired. Hasn't been eating enough, lots of anxiety, can't sleep, irritable," the sheriff thought. "He's becoming really oblivious and indecisive and has awful mood swings. He's been getting sick for a while, even before we got the news about the dementia, but of course he still had it back then and we just didn't know."

"Is he usually talkative?"

"Stiles? God no, used to talk his head off. I really miss it. But now that I think of it, he's been really- slow per se, like he can't think of the write word and when it's not that, he stutters or is too nervous to talk," John said solemnly, now hating himself for anytime he had told Stiles to stop talking. 

"You see- the seizures are causing disturbances in different areas then the degeneration from the dementia. These little spikes over here that are constant in the beginning-" The man pointed on the screen to show several little spikes on several lines. "This is the degeneration, all occurring in around the same area but it's rapidly progressed over the last few months, and considering his MRI from last year." He stopped and then continued on to show them both the spikes he showed first. "Now these are the seizure's activities, it's clashing with the degeneration and because of the illness it's sufficiently making each seizure worse as they pass by. We see it only in rapidly growing dementia patients, but it's incredibly rare especially with his type, considering he's still a teenager." 

The sheriff frowned at the news and gave a glance back to Melissa who wanted to cry right now, but couldn't because of professional reasons. He knew what this meant. Stiles' dementia was rapidly progressing, which meant it could only get worse from here, the anxiety, the behavior, the seizures. Everything. And it made the sheriff so mad that he brought a son into this world only to have a fate like this. 

Rhodes seemed to continue talking, but the sheriff's mind drifted away with sad thoughts. "As the dementia progresses, in the later stage you'll see more speech problems, and then it'll go even further than behavior and then into motor skill deterioration. Stiles could potentially lose function in any part of his frontal lobe that controls all that and things including his identity, memory, and personality. In some patients, we've even seen them grow from having no artistic ability at all, to drawing with talent because of how their anteriors have lost function. In the last stage, there is possibility that Stiles could lose all muscle control and physical decline. The results from this are long term consequences. So initially, it's not the degeneration that kills itself but the last symptoms that result in decline." Rhodes finished off as he and Melissa started to pull off all those ridiculous wires off Stiles' body as he stirred slightly.

"Can you give him anything safe for it? Something to ease his mind, but won't screw with his ADHD or the anticonvulsants." The sheriff asked softly.

"And maybe something that won't make him sick all the time," Melissa added.

"I can look into that, I read the report about his last prescription of anti-psychotics and I promise I won't give him something as strong as that. As for school, whenever he starts it, we'll get that information with his physician who wants to see Stiles after he wakes up." The doctor finished off as he took off the last of the equipment and wrapped up the materials. Melissa pulled a thin sheet over Stiles' body to cover his bare chest. 

"Okay, well thank you very much," John said sincerely to Dr. Rhodes as he shook his hand. 

"You're welcome, I wish the best of luck to you and your family." The man swiftly left with a smile to Melissa for the help.

What's even worse though, was Stiles was John's only family. It was just Stiles and him.

Stiles started to flutter his eyes open, very slowly and cautiously as they adjusted from an awful feeling. He felt like literal shit. His muscles ached like that one time he had his first high school lacrosse practice after running 7 miles around the hills not stop with his team. But he knew what had happened.

He remembered it. 

The sheriff pulled a chair over and sat down next to Stiles and faced him, waiting for his son to come back fully. Melissa pulled out her stethoscopes and thermometer to take his temperature. Stiles rolled over onto his side. As soon an Melissa laid a hand on his bare shoulder, Stiles protested.

"Please don't touch me," he whispered, bringing shock to John and Melissa. John frowned at the conversation starter and gave Melissa an apologetic look. 

"Stiles, I just need to take your temperature and listen to your heart for a second," Melissa explained with her award winning nurse smile.

"please- don't touch me." Stiles protested once again.

"Stiles, she's trying to help you." John tried to help him understand who he was talking to. And Stiles recognized that voice as his father's face came into focus. He recognized that town that just spoke "I'm so done with all of this." 

Stiles then realized what he said. There it was again, the weird behavior and irritable actions. He stuttered a bit when he wanted to apologize to Melissa and allow her to do her work. "S-sorry." He claimed pensively.

"That's alright sweetie, can you sit up right for me?" Melissa asked of him.

Stiles nodded as he slowly made his muscles to work and grinded against his bones. They were sore and caused to wince and teeter a bit, throwing John and Melissa's guard until Stiles' back was up against the pillow. He was still breathing a little heavier than normal, but it was to be expected.

"Breathe in." Melissa ordered and heard his breath hitch.

"And out." She followed up and watched his chest suck in and out against the stethoscope.

"Good." Melissa smiled as Stiles listened very provocatively and she took the thermometer onto his skin, up on his forehead, and around his ear. She read the number that appeared on it, and sucked in a little breath. "100.3," and this immediately drew concern from the sheriff. Melissa put her hand to his skin that did feel feverish. "It's a common symptom after that type of seizure, because it's like a vigorous exercise to the body and suddenly sky rockets its body heat. Do you have a headache?" 

Stiles nodded, "a little," he quietly remarked.

"Your doctor wants to see you in a few so we'll send one in if he says it's alright, because at the moment we don't know what's okay and what's not okay to give. Since we've already given you the rescue medicine for the seizure, we just want to be safe it'll be okay to use at the same time." Melissa explained as she pulled down the shades and heard a quite murmur in agreement from Stiles and she left the room.

All Stiles wanted to do was sleep, because all he currently could do was nod. He was speechless for the first time in his life. But he still felt the tension rise in the room be him and his father and John pulled his chair as close as he can.

Stiles looked catatonic, and it frightened his father.

"Stiles." Stiles refused to look at his father in the eyes as he called to him. "Are you okay?" John asked, already intelligible of the answer.

But instead of sucking it up, Stiles sucked up his pride and shook his head. "No." His body shrank in his mind as he slumped against the pillow, throwing his head back behind in him in despair. He rubbed his face over and over, breaking it in between with a "No, I'm not okay." Stiles just wanted to cry as tears threatened to pour out of his eyes like the Niagra. He took a deep breath until John wrapped his hand around his son's.

"It's okay, to not be okay." John quietly admitted.

"Dad-" Stiles turned to face him. "I remember everything, I could see everything and everyone and I physically felt myself losing control over my body." The words through javelins at the sheriff. "I remember the shaking and the feeling my chest concave against my ribs and I couldn't move but I could. And I heard what you said. And I heard everything. And I remember the feeling of not breathing, it was worse than a panic attack Dad!" Stiles was so close to breaking down into tears, damn it. He hated this feeling, the feeling of knowing everything. He had wished he was just passed out through it like all the other times. Hello new embarassing memory that won't wash away for about another ten years of his life. If he makes it that far. Stiles takes another deep breath as he calms down from his rant.

"I don't know if I can do this dad. I'm waging a war against my own body and I'm-" Stiles is interrupted by his father.

"Don't you dare say you're losing. If you were losing, you would've given up a long time ago Stiles. We're gonna fix this kid. Trust me we are."

"Dad." Stiles started.

"Yeah son?"

"Can I go to school tomorrow?" 

"What the hell Stiles? That's ridiculous-" The sheriff doesn't get to finish before the doctor comes in with a gleaming smile and such optimism that made Stiles want to throw up.

"Hey Stiles, Sheriff," the man came blasting over to shake both of their hands with a strong handshake. "I understand the last week has been in and out of the hospital for you but I can assure you that you'd be happy to know that you can start school as early as you like starting next week." The man smiled as he continued reading the board. "Umm no physical contact sports for the first three months, we can't afford another bad blow."

"Wait I can't play lacrosse? That's like the entire season." Stiles protested as politely as he could, which wasn't as much as you'd think.

"Stiles." His dad cautioned him to take it easy. So he bit his tongue and listened to what else the man had to say.

"You can take pain and fever medicines, like this Advil you're supposed to take right now, and an anti-psychotic that we'll have for you at the desk when it's ready, you're supposed to take it once a day and it won't interfere with anything, including your seizures, and in fact it's supposed to control your ADHD because now we know that adderall is a trigger for you." The man concluded as he continued to take notes on Stiles' overall appearance. "It should also help you sleep, but we are guessing that Advil is enough to do that as well."

"Doctor, are you sure about the antipsychotics? Last time we had a... Falling out.. With the last prescription." 

"Of course, this one is FDA approved for dementia patients, and incredibly safe and recommended for use as long as you stay on the prescribed dosage. Cutting it after your body gets used to it is incredibly dangerous." He reassured the sheriff and his son, when realizing that the last med could've killed him. "Now with school, we are guessing stress could be a possible seizure trigger, so you should really take it easy on yourself Stiles, just little by little. I've taken the time to get a list of the best therapists who work with patients like you who I definitely think you should take a look at for at least one." The man handed the paper to John. "So for now, just take this, and sleep it off because you need it Stiles," The doctor grinned goofily as he handed a cup and a pill that Stiles took in delight, excited for a good sleep. And within a few minutes, Stiles was knocked out on his side, sleeping away the worries.

"Tight schedule today, so I couldn't talk long, but I'll swing by when he wakes up so we can finish up." The doctor bristly left after the very short discussion. The sheriff could finally relax, but then realized he was going to miss work so he called Derek. And within the next thirty minutes, he was sitting in the same spot as the sheriff was earlier, listening in to the constant rate of Stiles' heartbeat.

By the time Stiles woke up, it was 5 p.m. Oh my god he had slept a full eight hours for the first time since the second grade. Stiles Stilinski has become the talented amongst many. His eyes opened only to say what popped out first.

"Dad-" his voice croaked out as he stretched his arms out in exaggeration. 

"Derek." The older werewolf claimed. "And Malia. Who wants to talk to you. So get the hell up Stiles because she's been here for the last three hours." 

"What?" Stiles squinted his eyes only to see it really was Derek and Malia. Actually it was a very pissed Derek and a very giggly Malia. Stiles yawned and after two minutes of sitting in silence to gather himself, he was ready to talk. Oh god. That's why she was here. She wants to talk.

"Well, I'm going to go grab a cup of coffee, and leave you to your business," Derek gave a snarky smile because Stiles knew what he was up to. He left the room and Malia sat closer.

Silence was sitting in between them.

"So." Malia said.

"So."

They both have never realized how awkward they really were.

"Stiles.." Malia started.

Oh boy, here it comes. The whole break up thing, oh my god.

"Stiles-" Malia started up once again in frustration. She didn't know how to start as she crossed her legs. 

"Stiles, I can't stop thinking about you."

And his jaw dropped.

"Malia-" 

"No- please just let me finish okay?" Malia interrupted. "I don't really know what we are, friends, family, a thing, broken up- whatever. My point is, I can't stop thinking about you. And I want to help you, I don't want you going through this alone." Malia got up and closer to Stiles. "I can't help the thought of losing you ever, and I've never liked someone this much and I.." She paused for a second.

Stiles needed that second to catch his breathe because holy shit he did not see that coming, but he was glad it did. Actually he was more than glad.

"I love you Stiles," Malia declared, and that was the very first time Malia Tate has ever declared her love for anyone, and a human nonetheless. But there was a silence that grew awkwardly when Stiles tried to process what was happening. Did the girl he loved just say she loved him back?

"Oh god, you- you still love Lydia, oh my god I'm sorry I-" Malia abruptly turned away, only to be stopped by Stiles' hand who had latched on to her's tightly.

"I love you," The boy said those three magical words that every girl wants to genuinely hear from their first true love. Stiles held on so tight as if that if he hold on tight enough, nobody would ever let him fall away. And then Malia came closer to him, grabbing his other hand and locking her fingers with his and leaned in for a good kiss as their lips locked, celebrating a relationship that never died. 

"I love you too, Malia," Stiles repeated again when they pulled away.


	15. Magnum P.I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the nice comments and kudos! Another chapter for you :-) Credit to the original story lines from the shows Magnum P.I. And my forever love, Psych. There is a slight season 1or2 reference from Derek and Stiles so you might find it, maybe not. Sorry for not updating daily, I'm trying to handle multiple fics because I've been writing another one. :-)

After a while of chatting with Malia and their now declared love, Stiles talked to the doctor with Derek in presence, telling him what he could and couldn't do. What made him pissed off though was the fact he couldn't drive his beloved jeep until he was at least a month free of seizures. Stiles was then free to get out of the said hellhole as he put on his shirt and shoes that he had previously taken off. He sat out in the waiting room because they wouldn't let him leave until his father was there to take him. Derek sat in a seat opposite to them as he continued to read that god damn book that he hasn't finished yet. Malia sat down next to him when he started to think. 

Malia had just said she loved him.

Malia has never ever told someone she loved them. 

Ever.

His knee bobbed up and down erratically with his added jumpiness. He felt like Malia was going to do something, make or move or something, but her plans were foiled as soon as Melissa walked up to the two teens.

"Hey, feeling better already?" Melissa asked with a charming smile. The last time Stiles talked to her, he told her to not touch him because he knew what she had done. And he knew what he had suffered. Embarrassment was painted over his face in different colors like a rainbow canvas.

"Y-yeah. Thanks." He tried to give her a sincere grin, but it didn't look so genuine.

"Um- I talked to your father, he's on his way." Melissa hesitated when she realized Stiles didn't really want to talk to her. "If you need anything, you know where my desk is." Melissa smiled at him and Malia before walking away. Malia could smell the tension between them, she could smell the anxiety levels rising in Stiles. She put her hand down on her knee and he stopped trembling, taking his own hand and holding Malia's. 

"What happened?" Malia questioned Stiles, referring to his encounter with Nurse McCall.

"It's nothing," Stiles shrugged as his eyes were pensive.

"Stiles."

He sighed as he let go of her hand, and ran his fingers through his hair once again. 

"The last one," He paused for a second as he took a deep breath. This was a humiliating moment for him. "The seizure, they needed me to have one for the stupid test they were running and didn't tell me." Stiles explained as Malia listened in carefully. She noticed his mood swing severely when he started to get a little depressed. "And it was just, ugh, just so embarassing and I could hear everything my dad was saying and I could literally feel everything yet nothing." 

Malia grabbed his hand again, trying calm her boyfriend down. Yes, boyfriend. You read that right. "That's okay." She said quietly. Stiles covered his face.

"No it's not, I'm so frickin weak, I couldn't even control myself." Stiles retaliated.

"You're talking to a girl who killed her own family in a crash because I lost control during a full moon," Malia was quick to counter when Stiles looked to her. Suddenly, he didn't feel as weak anymore, as defenseless. 

"Losing control is losing power," Stiles said, in defeat.

"Losing control is letting go. And there are consequences to that- I can tell you first hand. But it's ok to let go every once in a while." Malia reassured him. 

"What cat poster did you read that off of?" Stiles laughed a little, receiving a light punch in the arm. "Kidding." He grinned widely now, taking her hand in his and laid back in the chair, ready to call it a day when he realized it was only 5:30 in the evening.

Within the next few minutes, John walked in, looking more tired than ever as he bristly walked up past Stiles, making him draw his eyebrows. 

"Uh dad?" Stiles stopped him.

"Oh god, sorry kid I didn't even see you, I'm exhausted." The sheriff tucked his hands in his pocket when he saw Stiles wear a look of guilt. "Not from you Stiles, just some screwed up case down at the office. I don't even know where to start." Stiles and Malia both got up with Derek following in behind.

"Orrrrrrrr y'know you could tell me, maybe I could help dad I don't know, I've watched enough movies to know." Stiles cogently talked to his dad. John had walked up to Melissa's front desk as Stiles blubbered about watching an episode of Magnum P.I. He never once let go of Malia's hand. Derek was counting the whole time.

"Hi," Melissa said very sweetly to John.

"Hi Melissa," John tried to hide his yawn by an exaggerated smile. He looked around to find Stiles explaining to Derek his revision for a reboot of the show.

"Dude, I'm telling you- you grab those two guys from Psych- Roday and Hill and then throw in some crazy chick and a ferrari, and an old dude with an accent- hell we can get Peter for that- and then you've got a reboot for a modern Magnum P.I." Stiles argued, in his defense, he was clever in pulling together those two masterminds from Psych. But Derek just shook his head.

"Stiles, you're crazy, in no way, shape, or form should that show be rebooted! Worst case scenario- the mystery everyday? Yeah- recent killings by mountain lions in California when there are none." He heard Derek dish out his argument.

"Huh. Sounds familiar," Malia kidded.

"Your argument is invalid Derek," The sheriff scoffed at Stiles' last remark. The kid would do a hell of a job in the law enforcement. Then he resumed back to Melissa.

"Okay, here are all the information- uh.. seizures, the dementia, mental health, umm just stuff you basically already know." Melissa pushed forward a thick booklet. Then she slipped him a full two pages slathered with signatures. "Nurse's note, and one for the coach who'll be thrilled to get this I'm sure, he's allowed to be excused whenever he feels off or sick and goes immediately to the nurse. And he can get back to school starting Monday, but no lacrosse for awhile, or driving until he's one month seizure free." Melissa then handed the sheriff two small boxes with prescriptions. "This is the meds to help with the anxiety or nightmares. He should take it once every day to help with the stress considering he's a high schooler, because it could potentially trigger a seizure. And in this one is another form of the emergency medicine, the one I used. It's safer to administer during a seizure than what we originally gave him but keep that should this get lost or whatever."

"Oh wow, okay." The sheriff neatened up everything in a bag she gave him. "Thank you- Melissa."

"Just fair warning, Stiles has a high chance of another seizure today because of the drugs in his system, so don't start the meds until tomorrow at least at 10 in the morning to finish the full 24 hours. And please- please get rid of his Adderall." 

John smiled, "of course, I'm gonna find a hiding spot for those."

Melissa smiled and then continued. "Um, his friends- they should know how or learn what to do should Stiles ever have one where an adult wasn't around."

John nodded. "Scott knows, I had a talk with him the other day. Same with Lydia- she's just too smart. Malia and Liam are smart enough to pick up, they care enough about it too. Speaking of which, I'm kind of worried about Scott. He's been on edge lately." The sheriff spoke as he looked back to see Stiles still talking his head off. He remembered how Scott acted the other night, before storming back out after grabbing his friends' attentions.

Melissa sighed and placed her hand on the back of her neck tiredly. "Yeah, he's just a little- tense, he's worried for Stiles, for school, senior year I mean, what Stiles is going through, it brings back a lot of memories from the last time we thought he had it. He's still a little hung up on.." Melissa's voice trailed off into silence.

"Allison." 

Melissa nodded her head. She then took a deep breath and steered the conversation into another subject. "Anyways, I've called the school. Um- the administration board wants to meet with you tomorrow morning at the office."

John lifted his eyebrow in curiousity. "Why is that?" 

"Well they didn't expand on that with me, considering I'm just the nurse, but I'm pretty sure it's important. So you should give them a call later, see what it's about." Melissa explained as she finished packing the items. She waved goodbye as she received a thank you from the sheriff who corralled the teens and Derek so they could go home.

"Hey, dad can Malia stay over tonight?" Stiles asked pensively.

"Sure, son." The sheriff smiled and answered, content with the fact that Stiles and Malia were back together by the sight of them holding hands. They got into the car, Derek sitting shot gun next to John and the two kids in the back.

They were at the home within a few minutes as Malia and Stiles escaped to his room and the sheriff took a seat with Derek. "Thank you for staying with Stiles. And bringing along Malia." John said as he sat down opposite to him on the table, reviewing the cases as he grabbed the phone. "It's really nice seeing him happy with her again."

"It's not a problem, least I could do." Derek paused for a second, then continued. "You're not worried about Stiles and Malia alone?" He cautiously asked.

"Not at all, Stiles is a Stilinski, we don't disrespect our ladies like that." John stated as he jotted down notes. So wait, Stiles actually fell in love in high school? Watched Star Wars? Dealt with this shit? Oh. Derek had sex. "Plus he's Stiles, he's genuinely happy with a girl so I mean," John stopped there, knowing it was enough as he tried to not laugh. "Not every hour, he's happy like that. I'm glad he has someone, to help him go through it." But the words just reminded Derek of his own loneliness, and the sheriff's. Because Stiles reminded Derek of Paige.

John picked up the phone and called the head of the administration board from Beacon Hills High School. 

"Hello?" A sweet voice answered the phone.

"Er- hi. This is John Stilinski calling, the father of Stiles Stilinski."

"Ah yes, the sheriff. I'm so glad you called." The woman replied back.

"Yeah, hm.. Um I was told I should."

"Well, it's been brought to our attention about you and your son's situations, so if you wouldn't mind, we would like to have a meeting with you, the board and I, to discuss matters." The woman boomed over the phone. Uh oh. Matters.  
Matters was never a good word.

The sheriff rubbed at his eyes, a little tense and stiff at his shoulders as he stutters. "O-of course, um.. Tomorrow morning?"

"Mhm.. Yes. Are you available from around nine?" 

"I'll make the time," John replied as he ended his discussion with the woman. "Okay, thank you, bye-bye," he quickly said, saving the anxiety for later to deal with.

"Was that the school?" Derek asked.

The sheriff nodded. "Meeting, first thing tomorrow, at the school." 

"Do you know what it's about?"

"Nope." The sheriff sighed as he continued to work on the papers. This time, the case dealt with a young male, he was blessed with good genes and attractiveness, but was a successful actor who suddenly offed himself while at home. There were reports of the director and crew members who worked with the man who say he was "mentally disturbed and odd." But the sheriff couldn't believe it. Why would a successful person want to kill themselves at their big break? And then it hit him when he remembered Stiles talking about that show, Magnum P.I. What would Magnum do? Oh wait. He did this already.

I mean, the sheriff would've never know it because he'd refuse to watch the show because it made fun of the law enforcement but Magnum had dealt with a case just like this. And the sheriff, just like Magnum had smelled foul play. Stiles could be more crucial to the case then he originally thought as he went back to the moment when the doctor said his mind would start thinking differently, more creatively and become more imaginative. Too much for Stiles' taste.

Looks like tomorrow's gonna be another day to pile on work hours for.


	16. Meetings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for a long time to update, I took some time with this one, I had to think about how the characters would really act in it so I hope it'll do! You'll see pack in the next chapter, and no, this is not Sterek I'm sorry :-( there will be nice moments between them, but not romantically involved moments (I'll write a different fic for that)

That day, Malia stayed over with Stiles. The two cuddled, as they chatted about school, and the pack. That's all Stiles really wanted, ever since he lost his mom. He just wanted someone to fill the void. Someone he could come home to and tell about his day, endlessly talking about their hopes and dreams and repeating the same three words over and over. Every few moments, the sheriff would come to check on Stiles, but only to find him happily talking. 

Stiles was taking down all those old cases on his board, playing with the red thread that lead his missing persons cases. 

"The red-" Malia started, "it's for unsolved right?" 

Stiles nodded. "Haven't really had the time to snoop around the station for clues. Most of these just have to do with the supernatural baddies in this cursed town," Stiles grinned, plucking off each pin one by one. Malia smiled a little bit, when it reminded her of something. 

"You really do take after your dad, must be inherited genius genes," Malia chuckled as she stated.

"I don't know about that," Stiles rose his eyebrows. "I mean it actually just clears my head I guess, gives me a sense of control," Stiles claims as he puts down his stuff, playing with a red thread in between his fingers. "You know, when I start to go crazy." He starts.

"Which you won't," Malia retaliated.

"There's going to be all these shitty things going on, you know, the nightmares, then starts the speech and memory loss and lack of bodily functions," Stiles kept his eye on the thread, looping it as if he were going to knot it. He pulls the ends closer and closer as Malia watches.

"There's gonna be days, where I'm not going to recognize you." Stiles said as he knotted the rope tightly. 

"I'm not gonna let that happen."

"I just want you to know- that no matter what the hell happens, even if i frickin forget everyone on the face of this earth, I'm going to fall in love with you over and over; again and again for every time I see you." Stiles spoke proudly, over exaggerating his hand gestures, causing Malia to blush and they share a quick kiss. Malia had gone from all "why so serious" to "a lover, not a fighter," within that one conversation with him.

By the next time the sheriff stopped by the room was to tell them dinner was ready at around nine that night. He found Malia and Stiles sleeping instead, and so he decided not to wake them up because they had just looked so peaceful. The sheriff retreated on back to his dinner with Derek and the reviewing of bills. 

Stiles' arm was tucked across Malia's waist, embracing it very carefully as he clinged onto her. Malia fell asleep smiling, but her sleep was light. She listened in to his heartbeat, when she heard a sudden miss of a beat, and then a hop, skip, and a jump away from breath. For a few seconds, it seemed to stop altogether and his arm that was on her seemed to go rigid, as stiff as a board. He stopped breathing. Only for it to return a few seconds later. His arm started to vibrate against Malia's skin, and immediately she knew what it was when she heard small groans.

"Stiles," Malia blinked and found his face twitching repeatedly over and over. He was still asleep with his eyes closed when his legs started to vibrate, repeatedly thrusting surges of energy through his arm. "Stiles, Stiles hey," Malia frantically called out his name as she got up to give him space. "God, what do I do, what do I do," Malia whispered to herself fast as she remembered what she heard the sheriff tell Scott the other. "Okay, On his side, breathing, and then time. So far, 10 seconds." Malia talked out loud as she used her strength to roll Stiles easily onto his side. His body was still convulsing from the seizure as Malia made sure he was breathing when he was. "Stiles, Stiles, can you hear me?" Malia called out once again. She wouldn't want to wake Derek or the sheriff up so she just had to wait for Stiles to ride it out. Malia got frightened when she saw Stiles trilling his lips for a few seconds. His back then arched, throwing his head against the pillow unknowingly. 

"27... 28... 29..." Malia counted, and by the time she hit 41 seconds, Stiles' seizure died down and completely halted. The teen boy was haunted by heavy pants and gasps for breath. His chest heaved heavily until it forced Stiles to wake up from the lack of fresh air in his lungs and forced himself to wake up. He found his hand wrapped underneath Malia's as she stared at him with a concerned glare. Her eyes looked watery; glassy almost but she held back the tears. She squeezed on his hand as he came to after those forty seconds of pure agony.

"Stiles," she broke her tired eyes with a smile.

"W-wha happn'ed?" Stiles said groggily. 

"You.. You had another seizure." 

"I did?" Stiles turned his eyebrows up, frowning with disbelief and humiliation.

"Yeah, you scared me, but you're okay now," Malia reassured him.

"I- I'm sorry," Stiles whispered as he pulled her hand closer to him and kissed it. "I'm sorry," he repeated again. He just needed to sleep at this point.

"It's not your fault, can you breath okay? Are you dizzy?" Malia rounded down his symptoms, just Lydia would have. Stiles shook his head weakly in reply. "Okay, just go back to bed?" 

"Okay... Okay." Stiles said as he laid back down, repeating the phrase two more times, "Okay.. Okay," before falling back asleep.

Malia feel asleep next to him within the next ten minutes, but slept with a hundred things on her mind. 

The next morning, Malia was up earlier than she needed to be, then she realized it was actually Friday and not Saturday, and she had school. She cleaned herself up in the bathroom, and changed, leaving a snoring Stiles who still worried her and left to greet the sheriff.

"Morning Malia," The sheriff said as he sipped his coffee. The table was already placed with breakfast as she watched Derek take a bite into the toast.

"Good morning." She said with a glum tone. Malia took a seat and poured herself a cup of water. She watched intensely as she shook, trying to not spill the liquid on the table.

"Are you okay?" Derek rose an eyebrow.

"Uhm- yeah," Malia paused as she got her cup. "Um actually no." She grabbed John and Derek's attention. "Stiles had another seizure last night, while he was asleep." Malia received as disheartened look from the sheriff. "But I- the first thing I did was I put him on his side and then I found out he was breathing okay and then I timed it and he woke up and he couldn't remember it even happened and I s-" Malia was interrupted by the sheriff.

"You did great," he smiled as he took off the weight of the world from her shoulders. Malia took a deep breath, calming herself down. Usually, she'd never be so weak, so vulnerable, so human, but this was Stiles she was talking about.

"How long did it last?" Derek chimed in.

"41 seconds."

"Oh, well that's not as bad as his previous ones. Melissa said he would have one, considering he hasn't started the medications." John added, suddenly seeing Malia relax for time first time since that night. "He's lucky to have you."

Malia smiled as she continued to have her breakfast. "I can give you a ride to school, I'm supposed to have a meeting there anyways, I suppose it wouldn't hurt to be early." John offered as she accepted with gratitude. She looked at her watch, realizing that she has class in 15 minutes.

And with a gulp and a swallow, both of them were out the door. Before leaving John has asked Derek a favor, to let Stiles know where he was when he woke up and to take his medication. 

The drive was a leisurely one, without any traffic considering everyone was already at the school waiting for class to start. 

"Your dad called." John started a conversation, causing Malia's chest to cave in. Uh oh. This didn't sound good. "He just wanted to say thanks for letting you stay over." Phew. Malia smiled. "I hope you know you're welcome anytime here, for as long as you'd like." Malia replied with a thanks, and that was the end of the conversation before the sheriff parked his car.

"Have a good day," John said, suddenly feeling a void close in his mind, missing those words he used to say to Stiles every morning.

"You too." Malia replied as she hurried to class. 

The sheriff went in through the main office, signed in, and waited in the office of Mrs. Grey, the head of the admissions board. After a grueling thirty minutes, he was invited into the room. For what he waited, he was expecting something like the Oval Office.

"Mr. Stilinski, sorry for the wait, we were just preparing. Please- take a seat." Mrs. Grey smiled professionally as the sherif took a look around at the group. It was her, Mrs. Martin, and two men he had never seen before, but both looked promising. 

"Please, call me John." He smiled.

"John, we've been talking about what's going with Stiles." The woman started as she played around with some papers. "First, we deeply send our condolences for what you two are going through, it's tough."

"Thank you."

"We wanted to discuss the rest of his senior year and how it could be affected. We are willing for him to get tutored at home, and he can finish his courses online, but take the SATs here that week if need be." Mrs. Martin suggested.

"Actually, uhh- Stiles is quite excited to come back, says he wants to come starting Monday." The sheriff fixed his posture with this words. 

"Well he is a promising young man, John. If that's the case, then we at least want him to go down to the nurse's during a free period or lunch for at least the first week, just to check up." One of the men said, folding his hands. He looked like an older version of John. 

Somewhat.

"Yeah, that can be arranged. Whatever can help him." John hesitated for a second before leaning in. "I'm sort of worried about his academics. He's doing fine now, but as he progresses it's just going to get harder."

Mrs. Grey looked at him sympathetically. "Of course, we can have his classes adjusted. He'll still be in the same class with the same curriculum and criteria, but we'll make the environment more manageable. It'll be big differences, but it'll be subtle. I'd also like Mrs. Martin here to have a talk with him every once in a while, I think it'd help." The woman explained as John nodded in agreement.

"He refuses to get therapy, so I think this really could help, he won't- er' notice any of these changes will you? Because if he does he'll totally freak about needing extra help or think he's unintelligent." John supports the idea with his statement.

"Of course not, we'll make them as subtle as can be. In the meanwhile, today in the later day, we're going to have a school wide assembly." Mrs. Martin claimed as she tried to hold back her excitement when she passed him some forms. "We'll be letting the student Body know about our efforts to make this a better learning environment especially for students like Stiles, without of course identifying him solely. And lastly, We've taken a look at your recent tax filings you've sent in every year in the beginning of each school year as demanded by that state, and we felt as we were inclined to help financially, especially with all the bills and you being a single parent. It only makes sense, so we've decided to hold a benefit dance for the students to raise money, to help pay off some of the costs, because we know it can be hard. It'll be planned for later next week, the date undetermined, but it's late enough for Stiles to attend to if he likes, should he return to school on Monday." The woman graciously smiled, with a sense of pride as all four of them did when they saw the expression on John's face. He tried to keep a professional look, but he just couldn't stop grinning from all of the amazing news. "We just need your approval, and signature here." The woman finished off.

"Oh wow this is- this is more than I can ask for, more than we can take. I don't know if I can accept this. It's just too much." John said, as the humble human being he was.

"Really it's no problem, just the school giving back to its family, a family who's risked their lives to save the town nonetheless." Dr. Grey boasted about his work, highly fond of the sheriff.

John hesitated on the first letter, but then found himself easily signing it completely. As he got it, he took a moment to shake everyone's hand. "Thank you, so much, I can't even express how much we appreciate this."

"Of course." The man answered, letting Dr. Grey greet John goodbye and closed the door after him.

John felt relieved, he felt blessed, and most importantly, he felt grateful. Because God knows what would've happened to their house in three months had he not received support. He wore a slight grin all the way to the car, before driving away to work. 

Derek stayed, fixated at his own little space and went on his phone. He started to do research when no one was there to bother him. He looked up the stages of Frontotemporal Dementia first, reading about similar things Stiles had been experiencing. The weird thing was, Stiles was getting symptoms from all different types of the dementia. Huh.

"The two frontal lobes of your brain control language, emotion, behavior, and some motor skills. Over the years, the nerves in these lobes die off and change how the brain receives signals, causing the cells to degenerate with atrophy and the tissue to shrink. There are three types of FTD, behavioral variant, semantic, and progressive not-fluent apashia. Patients tend only to rule into one type, but there are several overlapping disorders that can start before or after the start of the dementia. After a while of one type of the illness, the damage spreads to other parts of the lobes, causing another type until the three types have no difference. Once the types clash, the dementia reaches its last years until it results in death from the symptoms and not the disease itself. It takes about 8 years from the first stage to the end stage of this type of dementia." Derek read and then it hit him. He leaned over the table and grabbed the papers from the hospital, that documented Stiles' symptoms. Then Derek realized, what the man who ran the EEG told Melissa after she told Derek. In the first doctor's writing, there's "behavioral variant FTD" written sloppily. But next to Dr. Rhodes' handwriting was "showed signs of progressive non-fluent aphasia." Derek noticed his heart concave into his chest, was that emotional pain the werewolf felt? He then didn't hesitate to type in "fast frontotemporal dementia" into the search bar. He opened up several scholarly articles about patients with Rapidly growing FTD.

"Rarely sought case in patients who demonstrated symptoms of all three types progressing from one type, to the end stage within a few weeks or a couple of months. Death rate increased compared to the average patient of regular FTD. Patients with Rapid FTD tended to have other internal injuries or head trauma occur with the dementia. Patients also had family history." Derek skimmed over the paragraphs. His world shook roughly as he concluded that Stiles had this, and that Stiles was going to die, and he didn't have enough time left in the world that had continued to screw him over again and again. Derek was so encumbered in his thoughts he hadn't realized Stiles had woken up until the teen had to raise his voice.

"Derek!" He called out with strain. 

"Stiles," Derek hesitated, "uh, sorry I was um, just checking over some stuff," He claimed as he pulled the bills and papers into a pile and onto the chair beside him, away from Stiles and his over-worrying eyes. "Good morning." Derek covered up his guilt with a nice smile. "Did you sleep well?" Derek asked as he poured Stiles a cup of orange juice. 

"Hm I- I guess." Stiles pulled at his shirt collar that had stuck to his sweaty body. He needed to shower. But he didn't feel like showering. But he felt awful and he needed to shower. Stiles continued to fight with his mind. "I feel hungover."

"How do you know what that feels like?"

"It was just one time, Derek," Stiles claimed as he brushed the long tips of his hair off his clammy forehead. 

"Wait- you really don't remember about last night?" Derek asked, concerned.

Stiles shook his head.


	17. Errand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I am back from my 1-2 month hiatus?? Oh god, it's been so long. I'm sorry,  
> I got caught up in school and work and lots of things going on. But I'm back to writing! I hope you all enjoy this paragraph and excuse me for the mistakes because I wrote this on my phone. I own nothing but my own typos.

Derek kept asking odd questions as Stiles poked and prodded at his cold toast. 

"Okay, so what about Malia- do you remember her sleeping with you?" 

"Yes of course Derek, I haven't gone mentally insane yet." Stiles muttered, wondering what was his deal as he took a sip of his orange juice.

"Okay, but you don't remember anything else?" He asked one more question with a lot of annoyance delivered in his tone.

"Derek- ohmygod! No, I went to sleep, and then I fucking woke up to your questions. Jesus Christ!" Stiles snapped. He finished his bite before drawing up a weird face and glaring Derek in the eyes. Derek seemed to pull back, his body against the chair now from the blow that was the teenager's words. Stiles stuttered. "S-sorry."

"It's fine."

"No it's not- I.. I'm sorry," Stiles grumbled, running his hands down face, hiding the exhaustion and humiliation between the cracks and crevasses of his fingers.

"Stiles." Derek said dominantly. "It's fine." He didn't want to grumble so he tried to give him a serious look, but the sour wolf really was softening up for the teen. Stiles looked at him with open doe eyes as he took a bite from his toast, making a satisfying crunch sound.

"Where's my dad at?"

"He went to a meeting at the school." Derek replied, concentrating on reading the articles on rapidly increasing frontotemporal dementia once again.

"Wait- the school? As in Beacon Hills High?" Stiles put down his toast.

"No. As in The White House." Derek scoffed, putting his cup of coffee to his lips.

"What's he doing there?" Stiles asked.

Derek stared blankly. "Are you seri-" he started. "Stiles, stop being so oblivious to the obvious and wake up and smell the roses." His salty attitude had to shine in at some time.

"I hate roses. They always give me thorns. It's ridiculous. They are awful prude little plants and should never be used to express love to your significant other unless you plan on giving them cuts." Stiles just seemed to ramble on and ramble, not having a care in the world. "I don't know, I'm more of a lavender guy, like if you're gonna get a girl flowers man -- lavender," Stiles made a point and snapped his finger. "Lavender is the way to go."

It's weird to think about it. How his mood can go from full blown panic attack mode to discussing flowers. 

"Anyways. Melissa said you could go back to school as soon as Monday if you'd like," Derek claimed and saw Stiles' eyes light up. "But." Stiles eyes dimmed down at the word. 

"But..."

"You have to stay on your meds." Derek ordered. Stiles' eye twitched on the right.

"Those things make me want to curl up in a ball, gouge my eye out, and then die." Stiles overexaggerated, although, he did come quite close to describing the physical pain it caused him. And the anticonvulsants never work when used with the anti-psychotics. 

"Stiles I'm serious. Just take them. Please." Derek reputed.

"Fine. I'm done eating anyways." Grumbled Stiles as he looked at the older man sheepishly. Part of him thought that Derek wanted to help him stay safe, and the other part thought that Derek wanted Stiles to hurt. 

"That means now.." Derek rose an eyebrow, suggesting that the teen take his meds.

"Ohmygod!" He slurred and staggered as he got up to his room to find his tablets. Stiles wanted to fake it out, maybe he could just pretend that he took them. But Derek could tell if he did or didn't. There was no way of getting past the keen werewolf senses. Nonetheless, he closed his eyes and painstakingly downed the first dose with a slug of water. Stiles' eyes floated towards his mirror and analyzed his body as he picked up the second bottle, reading the title anti-psychotics. How could he let himself get so weak and defeated that he needed to use medicine to calm him down? The thoughts rumbled in his head, feeling of despair and weakness. His fingers traced the big bold word, and promised himself that he wouldn't use unless he really needed to. Stiles took another look in the mirror again, he looked.... rough around the edges. Maybe he just needed some fresh air; so he put on a change of clothes and slipped into dark pants and a white shirt. 

Then he proceeded to commend himself on how he matched yin and yang.

Stiles finished up, and even brushed his hair to make it look like he at least tried today. He went out his door and found himself in the kitchen again to find the table clean and freed of clutter and half eaten toast slices. 

"What the- does The Flash-like speed come with the all renewed alpha program too?" Stiles kidded.

"I'm going out on an errand." 

"Ooooooookay, so uh I am just gonna uh get some work done in my room while you're out." Stiles pointed back at his room causally, ready to dart at the opportunity to get organized. It was something he longed to do ever since he came out of the hospital. He had this feel of chaos and disorder and he needed to cleanse himself of it. 

"You're coming with me. Do you really think leaving you home alone was part of my agenda?" Derek claimed as he tussled around for his keys of his black cammaro. "Grab a sweatshirt, it's cold outside." He added.

"Treated like an intruder in my own home." Stiles grumbled as he went into the room and grabbed the closest sweatshirt, a grey comfy one that made him feel all warm on this inside, like that feeling with its the first day of winter and you come home freezing from school and your mom has already made you a cup of her hot chocolate, and it's just sitting on the table waiting for you to drink it in one go. Then the warm fuzzy feeling was disrupted by a wave of disorientation that made Stiles grab the end head board of the bed frame to balance himself. A haze flew over him but then quickly passed.

Side effects of the meds.  
Obviously.

Stiles braced himself until he made it close to their door by Derek, who had turned to see an uneasy teenager. 

"Stiles- you feeling okay?" He asked with concern.

"I'm fine." Stiles gave a small smile as the pain started to fade into a figment of his imagination. 

Derek shoved the keys back into his leather jacket. "Sit down, take a breather." The werewolf cautioned.

"Derek, I said I'm fine, I- I just need some fresh air, yeah- fresh air would do me good." Stiles looked all doe eyed and scratched at his nose, he learned to hide the pain well unfortunately. Derek gave him a concerned glance then decided that maybe some fresh air would help. They both walked down to where Derek's car had sat over night by the garage. Derek was listening into Stiles' heartbeat with every swift step he took.

"Stop that."

"Stop what?" Derek questioned.

"You know what." Stiles bit back as they both got in the car and strapped the seat belts. 

As Derek pulled out of the driveway, Stiles saw his beloved Jeep. Oh how he longed to drive his sweet little blue car. It wasn't much. Actually, it was more tape than it was car. But it didn't matter. Nobody really cares for the story it has, nobody really takes the time to marvel in the facts and just go straight to judging the little run down car. It kept Stiles humble, it told him you can judge a book by its cover. Or a person by their face. Just a little remembrance every now and then. 

Derek looked back in the mirror and then at Stiles as he pulled the car out onto the street. He could literally smell the anxiety fuming off him, and the smell of old spice aftershave.  
\--  
That day at school, the gang kept close. Lydia had been packing the school work up for the Stiles to take home to him what he missed, which was more than he should have to worry about. It doesn't help with the fact that the term is coming to an end and he's missed the Calculus exam. But Lydia's been taking extra detailed notes in class for him, and she hoped that he'll take them without a fight. It wasn't long until she was sitting right beside Malia as they waited for Scott and Liam to grab their line and join them.

"Hey," Liam came over with Mason, claiming their seats and Scott sat down across from the girls. At first, it was a little tense. No one wanted to bring the subject up, they didn't want to talk about Stiles' impending doom anymore. But after a few sentences of volleyed small talk, Scott unveiled the elephant in the room.

"So.. Derek sent me a text." Scott started and the others listened. "Stiles is doing good, no seizures-" he goes on but immediately Malia finds herself trying to choke back on the lie. She then realized it's probably best not to worry them anyways. "Um.. So, they are gonna have an assembly just to talk about it because they want to have a dance to raise money for the medical bills." Scott found himself smiling from the show of support.

"Is he coming back Monday?" Mason asked.

"My mom said if he wants to, he can."

"At least he's doing better," Lydia smiled at Malia. The strawberry blonde picked at her own lunch, "I hope he doesn't feel overwhelmed when he does come back, he missed a lot of work."

"Oh my god I totally failed my AP Bio test." Scott said back, not even kidding about it but chuckled anyways.

"Are you serious, I literally just sat in math for a good hour trying to remember what that a polynomial was good for." Malia reputed and laughed herself. 

The lunch was pretty decent from then on, the chatter was inconsistent but it was good, it was nice hearing them laugh and talking to each other without wondering when one of them was going to pass out or panic. And with time, came the twenty minute assembly. It was short, and sweet, and best part was it had no direct mention of Stiles Stilinski. 

The high schoolers all crowded around in the auditorium, listening to Mrs. Martin and the school psychologists explain the case. "Good afternoon students. We all know that Beacon Hills is a community, and when one is in need, then it's our responsibility to help them. It's come to our attention that one of the attending students is going through a very serious, and personal dilemma. The student's medical diagnosis will make it harder for them to adhere to the learning environment which means we expect you to be able to adapt to any needed change under any circumstances. This is all in the interest of our students and will in no way, shape or form will it affect our grade." The woman paced around the stage as she explained. "This means that you should all be encouraging not just to them, but to everyone." Mrs. Martin went on to explain something about chances and equality in education that most of them tuned out for. "But, It's come to the point where the family can't afford the medical bills. That's why we have decided to put on a dance on Friday the 21st, that's two weeks from today. The money raised through the tickets will be funded for the family to help them. Should there be any rising problems, we will speak and it will be an A and B conversation between you and the superintendent of schools." Lydia's mom wrapped up in a few minutes after she explained a little bit more about the student's case, and that's when the eyes started to shift around the room. They pried and stared and glared and burned holes through the backs of heads. The group could feel the staring that was directly at them. Mrs. Martin might as well just say who the hell it was because they all know now. They cleared out the room like a flee of zebras on the savannah and immediately the whispers and gossip started. 

"Just keep walking." Scott whispered ever so quietly that only werewolves and banshees could hear. He could hear those fake rumors rising up again, claims of him dying on the field, Stiles overdosing on drugs, and it being a side effect of ADHD. Scott wanted to punch every single smartass straight in the jaw but he had to contain himself, for Stiles. It took every ounce of will power for them to finish the school day peacefully.  
-  
Meanwhile, Stiles and Derek had been driving in silence for 28 minutes. 

"Hey man, where you going? I don't mean to deprive you of your werewolf manliness or whatever, but uhh you're kinda driving in the middle of nowhere. 

"First of all, chill- it's somewhere you're more than familiar with, second, we aren't in the middle of nowhere, just a different longer way to go so you can get some fresh air." Derek replied as he focused on the road, and he tried to contain his excitement but let a small smile escape. Stiles didn't know how to reply, because he did in fact enjoy the fresh air, and the ride in the cammaro. But he wasn't gonna let old sour-wolf enjoy that. 

And suddenly, within minutes, they weren't in the middle of nowhere. They were stopped right in front of a certain charred house.

The Hale home. 

"Don't move." Derek undid his seatbelt and hopped out the car real quick.

"Wait what if I-" Derek was already out by the Stiles had even started the sentence. Stiles looked out the window while he waited for the older man. He prayed that some crazy were-piranha thing wasn't gonna try to murder him so he tried to distract himself by looking at the sky. Because when your alone, in the woods, at the beak of the morning, every snap is a step taken and every rustle is a murder planning their next move. He thought about calling his dad, but he didn't want to scare him by making him think he's calling for an emergency. That's all he's been doing for the last week. He's done being the needy child. He's got shit to get done this year and doesn't need anyone doing it for him. Then, something started to come back to him slowly, and then all at once. Something about Malia. Last night.  
Sleeping?  
Seizure?  
Seizure.  
Stiles thoughts were interrupted once again by the slamming of the door by a certain brooding male who made his way to the car. 

Derek swiftly got into the car, but this time he didn't start it, and he had something in his hands.

There was a brief moment of silence because Stiles noticed something. Some sort of the dry streaks of remnants of... Tears was it? Derek Hale cried?

Derek says something.

"The other day- showed me a picture of your mom from when you were little, and then the one that Liam got for you that was at the hospital. And I guess I could learn a few things from you. And I guess I'm not really over anything yet. But maybe this would help me." The older man spoke real quiet. Between his fingers was a picture of him, and four others. It didn't take Stiles to guess who they were.

It couldn't be anyone else besides Cora, Laura, and his parents.

Of course.


	18. Thinking Kills the Brain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god, sorry this chapter is short!! I'll be taking some more time in writing these next chapters so I can get in a good fic. Warning: lots of typos in here sorry for my fellow grammarians. Thanks for staying by this story! I apologize for this chapter, it's a mess,I'm a mess, and it's a bit too rushed.

All Stiles could do was stare at the picture. He knows he should probably console Derek somehow, or at least thank him. But Stiles takes the time to really invest himself in the moment. It was of Derek and his family, must've been Christmas time because there was a decorated tree in the background still with unopened presents. High school Derek was sitting next to his mother. She looked gentle and kind, like every word that should describe a mother. Her smile was large and genuine, just like the one Derek flashes ever so rarely. Next to her was a tall man hugging an older girl. The man, woah, I mean he looked like a photocopy of Derek. Or the other way around I suppose. His arm was swung around a tall girl, must have been Laura, the eldest sister. She had these eyes- they just sparkled against the camera, they were were just a little more dull than Derek's, Stiles has noticed. But somehow, they shined a bit brighter. And to the other side of Derek was a little girl. Cora, the youngest. She held something in her hand, maybe it was a book, a journal of some sort? Stiles left it up to his imagination as he stared at the picture. He smiled as he noticed how much of a perfect family they really were.

"We were a traditional Christmas tree and Christmas themed stockings and the cookies and milk type of family." Derek practically read his mind. 

"Really?" Stiles chuckled and Derek nodded, flashing a smirk. "My dad couldn't get me to believe in the whole Santa thing. I guess something about one man getting a gift for each kid on Earth as he sent out little mini spies that giggle to stalk their every move didn't seem to entertain my five year old mind." Stiles rambled as Derek tried to stifle his laughter.

Suddenly, Stiles wasn't laughing or smiling. His grin turned into a grim, condescending look. It was then when he realized that this perfect family didn't get to have their perfect ending.

And then he realized.

This disease, this whole thing, it was gonna end the same way as Claudia's fate. His own family would have their own unhappy ending, and he'd leave his dad all by himself mourning for his son and wife who were murdered by the same culprit.

"Stiles.." Derek said, concerned about his mood change.

The picture trembled in between his fingers.

"Stiles-" Derek recreated again.

"I wanna go home.." Stilee whispered so quietly and tried to not make eye contact with Derek.

"I-"

"Please." Stiles begged. 

Without a word, Derek turned the keys and powered up the car. He pulled out safely from the house and went on the quickest route to the Stilinski household. He could practically smell the misery off him, and it made Derek wonder what Stiles had thought about. The scent was like a toxic fume, like an unbearable feeling like when you see a child crying on the ground because they fell and scraped their knee. It was a few minutes of uncomfortable tension before Derek decided to say something.

"It helps if you talk about it." Derek said as he pulled onto the freeway, listening to the jump in Stiles' heartbeat. 

"I'm not one to talk."

Derek gave him a deadly stare. "There were times where we wished you stopped moving and talking. and the one time you have to, you don't feel like it?"

"No I really don't." He had this snarky attitude now.

"Maybe, maybe if you went to a therapist or- or someone maybe it wouldn't be so bad, you'd get help." Derek started only to be interrupted by Stiles' bottled up frustration.

"I don't fucking need help!" Stiles burst. Within the last 10 minutes, he had gone from overexcited to pissed off and frustrated. Derek's ears got clouded as Stiles' heart thumped louder and louder, faster and faster until he could physically hear him start to breathe heavily. Derek gripped onto the steering wheel forcefully, gaining full control after Stiles clenched the seat belt because he could feel his chest concaving inside him.

"Stiles- okay, okay," Derek glanced over, "I'm pulling over," he said reassuringly. 

"No-" Stiles took a deep breath, "m'fine." Another gasp took place after that. 

"I'm pulling over." Derek stated, flashing his emergency lights and was formed a free section by passing cars to drive through and successfully made it to the pull-over lane. 

Stiles' attempts for gasps were disheartening and physical at this point, his gut rose up into his throats and tried to claw his way out. His brain said breathe, but his lungs said don't. He clenched his t-shirt and writhed as he shut his eyes, drops of tears forming down the creases of his lash line. 

Derek quickly turned the car off and unbuckled both their seatbelts. 

"Stiles- Stiles listen to me, listen to me, are you listening?" Derek said quickly but clearly.

"Derek I can't-"

"Stiles look at me, look at me Stiles." Derek called out as Stiles slowly and uneasily opened his eyes to find Derek's were shining red. He felt Derek's hand wrap around his wrist, as he attempted to leech any physical pain out of the teenager. 

The boy's eyes came in contact with Derek's and the shuddering came to a halt. Single lines of dark veins poured up Derek's arm, causing him to wince a little as his eyes widened. He watched in complete horror as Stiles' chest heaved up and down rapidly, trying to catch his breath. 

"You're in pain."

Stiles tried not to look at him and pulled away. That made Derek gripped just a little tighter, leeching as much as he could.

"Stiles." Derek said grimly. In a somewhat of a parenting tone. "What hurts?" Derek leaned in as the cars sped by them, not worrying about who's watching and what their thinking, only worrying about Stiles. 

Stiles' face grew incredibly red as he dragged one hand over it to hide his embarrassment. He just had another panic attack in front of Derek Hale. He sighed loudly, with glassy eyes that looked as if they were holding back so many tears. 

"I-I don't know, everything. My entire body aches." Stiles said glumly.

 

"You want me to take you home?"

Stiles nodded.

Derek whispered okay to himself as he watched Stiles' fingers fiddling with the end of the seatbelt until he leaned in and fastened it for him. All Stiles could do was be silent and try not to die from embarrassment. Derek went into the drivers side and turned the car on and put on the seatbelt before pulling into the first driving lane.

"Sorry." Stiles started. "I've been losing it a lot lately. I.. I don't even remember it half the time." He whispered.

Derek didn't know how to reply. This just meant Stiles was getting worse, his behavior was getting worse, and then next comes the language and intellectual fault, then the memory, and before you know it, Stiles will have a hard time even moving. 

It was a quiet drive home, and even quieter when they got there because Stiles just ran off into his room. And Derek couldn't do anything about it. He wanted to give the kid space. Derek plopped down in his spot where he had left all his notes and the doctors files. He felt his phone buzz, and thank god it was the sheriff calling.

"Hello?" Derek answered.

"Hey it's John. How's everything going?" 

"Could've been better."

John made a sound of digest on the line. "What happened?"

"He isn't really feeling well, he's lashing out a lot, and he won't talk about it but I can literally smell it ten feet off him." Derek responded in a hushed voice. He could literally hear the sheriff sigh and visually saw him rubbing at his forehead in disdain and worry. Derek hesitated about whether to tell Stiles' father about his findings on rapid frontotemporal dementia, but he didn't want to cause anymore worry for him in fear that he might have a heart attack.

"Anyways, I'll come home early around 2. Help yourself to whatever you'd like in the house." The sheriff ended the call.

The county's sheriff department was always busy and hectic, but John just has this huge backload of cases he's missed from prior nights spent at the hospital. But the guys and ladies over there have been as caring as ever and have all given him the great support he truly needed. The occasional Parrish would pop into his office, asking how Stiles was doing and how the gang was, and that if he ever needed anything that he should call him. 

But the days were going by slower for him. There's not a minute that goes by where he isn't thinking about Stiles, or even Claudia, how he's thinking that his son could be panicking or having a seizure or upset or scared and his father isn't even there. There's not a single moment that goes by where John feels like he isn't doing enough, even though what he's doing is everything he can. And Derek doesn't even need to tell him about the research. John has seen the doctor's notes himself. He knows exactly what was gonna happen. And it's different with Stiles. With Claudia, it took about 10 years before the disease took over her body. John took advantage of 9 of those ten years when she wasn't horribly sick, and they at least had no regrets when she died. Maybe the one regret they did have was having Stiles, because John wouldn't wish this on any parent, having to watch their child lose it until they become so deranged and disoriented that they become prisoner to their own body. John spent the rest of his time going over high profile cases, and then feeling guilty when he couldn't get himself to do anything but pity his own son.  
\--  
By the time it was the end of the school day, Malia, Lydia, Scott, Liam and Mason all went on their way to visit Stiles. 

"Anyone else feel like the entire school is out to get us?" Liam asked the group.

"Oh my god it was awful," Lydia added.

"We were like deer in headlights." Malia said.

They all continued their cars.

"Okay, no one says a word about this at all to Stiles." Scott said before getting into the car and driving away while Malia and Lydia drove to Stiles' place.

When she pulled in to the drive way, she noticed the black cammaro was still there, followed by the sheriff's car that had literally just pulled up to the street. So Derek was there, and now John Stilinski was parked behind Lydia's toyota, and off in the distance was Malia's car she has left when she slept over the last night.

"Hey Mr. Stilinski," Lydia's pristine smile gleamed as she pulled out multiple books from the car. 

"Hi Lydia, uh-" The sheriff hesitated when he saw the girl struggling to hold the stack of old textbooks but eventually she got it. "Is Scott coming?" He distracted himself with the question. 

"Oh, Scott and Liam are at practice, big game tonight but they said they really wanted Stiles to come and would rather be with him than with Coach."

The sheriff nodded then smiled as he proceeded to enter the house and held the door for her and Malia.

"Hey." Derek said outloud, but not directly towards anyone.

Within the span of the morning until now, there was a lot done. Derek had convinced Stiles to take a shower which left the smell of axe and old spice in the air. Then, he had gotten him to eat a sandwich, albeit he ate it in his room, which was presumably cleaner and neater than yesterday so Derek assumed he cleaned it. Finally, he had sat down Stiles and explained to him that he shouldn't be embarrassed over what happened earlier, that it was okay if it happens again, and that if anything hurts or bothers him he should speak up. Stiles really enjoyed being lectured like a 10 year old, but Derek took it as a win and gave him a pat in the back for a productive day, despite the lousy start. He continued in the kitchen as made sandwhiches for the sheriff and the two girls, and a cup of tea for himself. 

Lydia put down her bag and books and took a seat as she waited politely for Stiles when Malia went into his room. She knocked on the door when she found him staring at his board with webs of thread. 

Stiles turned around with raised eyebrows and immediately went towards her and kissed her, wrapping his arms around her body as he said, "I missed you."

Malia smiled at him and then blushed. It's real this time when she goes red, and it doesn't happen very often. He brushed the strands away off her face and just stared for a while.

Malia laughed,  
"What are you doing?"

Stiles gave a grin. "Sorry, I just noticed how beautiful you are."

Stiles distracted himself with her eyes. They had looked familiar, just like his own pair. Like his mother's. And it was great that he had Malia to come home to everyday, it was great that he had someone who makes me forget about all the crap going on in his life and his bad days because everything is amazing when he's with her. He loses all sense of time and all sense of beauty because what he has- God, it's just too pure. 

Malia didn't crack her smile and kiddingly said, "Stop it," she tried hard not to blush even harder, "Lydia also came. She missed you too. Duh."

At that moment, Malia swore she saw his eyes physically light up his entire world. "She's here too?" He asked.

"Of course she is. What the hell else would we be doing?" She grabbed his hand and they left his room and out into a safe zone with friends Stiles loved and he couldn't have it any other way. Just seeing Malia and Lydia made him so incredibly happy. 

Stiles didn't know what to think of this, here he was, standing in a room with the girl he loves, and the girl he loved. Part of it makes him want to kill himself for doing this, the other congratulated himself on even getting one. But it's all come to bite him in the ass, all those years pining after the strawberry blonde, and now he's got Malia. 

He has no regrets over the choice he made.

"Hey." She flashed her smile again when he greeted her. "I uh- brought some of the work you missed. I thought maybe we could go over it so everything won't fall on you at once." Lydia thought. She was already deep into the calculus textbook solving out some combinations of letters that didn't look familiar to Stiles. He had forgotten the fact that he was out the entire week, and it was first termed semester exams. Just his luck.

"Some?" Stiles joked, inferring that she had the entire units for each subject laid out. 

"The more we can get in, the easier it will be for you." 

Stiles took a seat next to Malia, across from Lydia so they sat face to face. Derek came to the table as placed down a few sandwiches and sprite cans, as he and the sheriff went to another room to leave the friends alone. Stiles studied the highlighted text in the math book. He understood ZERO concepts and he's pretty sure they were all review chapters from last year. Damn. 

"This- this all just looks like numbers and color." Stiles muttered to himself. "Feeling a little overwhelmed already."

Lydia laid her hand on the textbook. "Ok so, maybe we'll start with AP Chemistry first. That test was the hardest, so if we can get that out of the way, everything else should be fine." You know you're screwed when a genius says it's hard. Malia listened in as she worked on some of her own work.

Stiles sighed when she handed him a large packet, presumably a study guide. It looked neat, and professional and like a teacher made it, so immediately he knew it was Lydia's notes. They were like a gift from God. He started to read something about thermodynamics, but he couldn't get his eyes to focus on the page. The ink smeared and dropped into lines that talked about stoichiometry. Stiles was already lost within two minutes. His elbow floated onto the table and his hand pushed up against his temples as he tried to process all these words, thoughts.

"Stiles- take it easy baby okay?" Malia grew concerned when she could smell the misery and stress fuming off him. He hadn't even made it into five minutes of work.

He tried another paragraph. It was a weird word that this started with, equilibrium. "Eeeequilibrium." Stiles whispered loudly, enough for Lydia and Malia to raise their eyebrows. The words came into play once again, something about dynamic equilibrium and hydrolisis, and some guy Chatelier's principles. Stiles couldn't get it into his brains. It must have been four minutes before Lydia decided to stop it.

"Okay, maybe we should take a break."

Stiles huffed and puffed at his pathetic mess of an excuse for life. He was frustrated that he couldn't grasp simple concepts that he clearly already knows, it was like giving a five year old An outline to Algebra 1. 

"Sorry- I can't think clearly. Honestly I'm so stupid." Stiles admitted quietly. Malia reached out and put her hand over his, locking their fingers and rubbing her thumb in the small of his palm. Malia looked at him again, and now it was clear just how tired he was.

"Stiles, no it's my fault- I overcomplicated it, I shouldn't be adding stress when I wanted to help reduce it." Lydia apologized profusely. She suddenly felt awful for dumping everything on top of Stiles at once. "Listen- Scott and Liam want you to come to the game tonight, it'd get your mind off things."

Stiles was a little hesitant- it's a Friday night, he hasn't been to school in a week, there's a large, very looooouuud crowd, and big guys slamming into each other for a small ball. But he nodded and accepted anyways because of Scott and Liam. He then sucked in his pride and grabbed back at the Chemistry packet.

"I'm gonna try again."


	19. Friday Nights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helll Again! So sorry for such a late update, but here is a good hearted one :-) one of my closest friends who lives far away had a medical emergency and it had me on edge for a while and with the school term ending it got me caught, but now everything is good so i can get back to writing! Excuse me for all the mistakes as i was too lazy/tired to edit everything considering I wrote this at 11 pm

It was the first Friday night that Stiles had gotten to spend not in the hospital. Hopefully the first of many. He had gotten through laboring though two hours of hard work with Lydia and Malia before he found himself being forced by the girls to wear his lacrosse jersey. 

"But I'm not even playing in the game." Stiles reputed as he looked at it, comparing it to his tires in the mirror in his room.

"Yeah because the game is for you silly," Lydia pointed it out before leaving the room to get her purse in the dining room.

"I also like seeing you wearing it," Malia smiled. "You look, rather dashing"

Stiles poked his head through the shirt halfway. "Dashing huh?" Malia nodded as he pulled down the rest of it over his light undershirt. Malia grabbed his hand as they made their way out, finding Lydia at the door with keys in her hands.

"I'm driving." She lead them out the door after saying bye to the sheriff and Derek, who then told them to have fun.

It wasn't a long car ride, but Stiles was still bothered with it. These long periods of wasted blank time- they give his annoying anxiety ridden thoughts space to play themselves out like a movie in his head. They create and envision every single worry that the teen ever had. It makes him space out until he realizes it's pitch dark outside and all he could hear was the sound of the crowd roaring and the opening of Lydia and Malia's doors. He followed them until they reached a space to sit in the bleachers right as the crowd was on its feet. Lydia slid in next to some other seniors while Malia stayed close to Stiles, her hand locked into his. 

"Well?" Malia said loud enough so he could hear.

"Well what?" Stiles replied.

"Don't you have some bench warming to do?" Malia smiled, dimples forming at her cheeks.

"What do you mean?" Stiles rose his eyebrows.

Malia turned to the play and emphasizes her look to get Stiles' attention. When he turned around he saw Liam waving at him to come down. He felt his face go red. 

"I don't wanna go by myself." Stiles admitted, a sudden feeling of abrupt anxiety urged him to turn away. Malia then took his hand and started to make her way down the bleachers with him. She turned around to see Lydia giving her a large smile and approving expression. 

Stiles soon made his way with Malia to the bleachers where a loud roar greeted and maybe startled Stiles just a little. All of a sudden everyone started cheering once they caught a glimpse of Stiles. 

"Stilinski!" Stiles heard a very familiar voice, one that usually doesn't use that much optimism. Especially when he's shouting. He turned around to find the Coach's arm around his shoulder, welcoming him back. "What the absolute hell was going on?" was all Stiles could think, but he couldn't help doing nothing but smile. 

"Heard you went to hell and back! Where ya' been kid? Ah forget it! It's good to have you back." The older man seemed very psychedelic and also possibly very drunk, throwing a slap that was a little stronger than gentle against Stiles' back. Yet, Stiles couldn't stop smiling with the immense love. Suddenly he didn't feel so alone or so shitty or emotionally drained. Stiles rubbed at his head sheepishly, "thanks coach," he tried to get out. The sidelines started roaring as soon as the lacrosse team got a glimpse of the teen. These guys, some who he doesn't even know, some who he hasn't talked to since the seventh grade, they all just started cheering for Stiles. It couldn't have been any more triumphant. He started to get nervous when all the bodies started to thud against each other in excitement, suddenly everyone got closer too him and Stiles promised he wasn't gonna freak out but all he could see was fabric and red and white and numbers and faces and he couldn't pin a name to each face. The boy spinned around, looking for her, for his anchor, oh where did she go she was just right next to him, please please please. A hand wrapped around Stiles' shoulder and snapped him out of the trance.

Scott.

"Dude you made it!" He was all smiles, but Stiles knew he could smell the sickness fuming off him. Stiles' haze faded out and gave a feign smile to his best bud. 

"Y-yeah, of course I did." He tried to play it off. But Scott knew something was off. 

"Stiles you okay?" The team started to hover away because the ref blew his whistle for the end of the time out. "You don't look so good."

"Wha- what?" Stiles scoffed. "No I'm- pfft I'm great, really no don't worry, no- I'm doing quite splendid. Go get 'em tiger!" Stiles gave a stupid grin and a pat to the back. He said it so awkwardly and Scott suspiciously looked at him, pulling down his helmet and cautiously returning to the field, throwing him a glance back. As soon as he looked away, Stiles immediately sat down. He couldn't look for Malia, he was too busy having a semi-meltdown because his eardrums were banging to hard into his brain. He felt a hand brush his shoulder, over exaggerating it as a brush with death, because it was the hand of an angel.

"Me-Melissa? You came." He stuttered, allowing his nerves to settle. 

"Persuaded my way out of the night shift, I couldn't miss this game for the world." She gave a smile to Stiles, knowing that the game was dedicated to him. Melissa tucked her hands into her jacket pocket, watching her cold breath in the air. There was a cold silence lingering for a few seconds before the nurse barged in. "You know, I think your dad might even make the game by the looks of it. Maybe halftime, he had another shift?"

"Well when you're the sheriff of a problematic time, it's gonna be hard to find some time to sit down and knit." He tried to make her laugh, get a chuckle out of Melissa. 

"Alright well I will make sure to let you know when he comes. I gotta leave before Coach kicks me out." Melissa shines another one of her infamous genuine smiles before leaving. Stiles sits there on the bench rattling his fingers as he watched. It made him realize how much he missed the sport and playing with Scott, and as much as he hated to admit it, the Coach. 

The ref had just restarted the play, the two opponents faced each other, glaring into the other's eyes. It was Scott against another kid. The referee blew his whistle and before Stiles could even digest it, Scott had already scooped up the ball with his stick and was zooming down the sides of the field. The kid was getting good. He dashed down the field, allowing Liam to catch up with him through the middle before maneuvering in between two defenseman and lobbing the sophomore a throw. With a strong swing of the stick and a frightened whimper from the goalie, the referee blew his whistle continuously as they scored the goal. The crowd cheered loudly for the duo and as much as the rambunctious noise bothered Stiles' head, he clapped for his best friend too.

But he felt a sudden clawing, a sudden surge trying to claw its way out through his throat. It was an awful feeling and suddenly he felt dejected and confused. He rubbed his face in frustration, realizing his mood swing. How the hell did he go from happy and cheering for his best friend to being all sad and anxious? Stiles closed his eyes for a second- just a second he promised. And when he opened them, he wasn't where he was supposed to be. He was back at the field, the night of the game where it all started, he could see the guy who would continue to take him down enough to knock him out. He could see the entire crowd of people, strangers and classmates staring at him, not realizing until now of just exactly how many people saw it play it. He clenched his fists tighter to the point where he felt his fingernails denting his skin. The last thing he saw was a wave of a massive green bulge sprinting right at him and he heard the referee blowing the whistle just right before-

"Stiles!" Malia called out, snapping him back to reality. He was still there at Scott's game, sitting on the bench, with Malia by his side. Stiles could literally feel the vomit finding its way up against the inside of his body. 

"I'm not crazy. I just imagined the entire thing." Stiles said in his head.

"What's going on? you have been off all night." Malia asked concerned. 

"I-I don't know I feel off- I know I am off I just feel it, i just kinda zoned out." 

"It's okay if you don't wanna stay, we should've asked if you were ready. I can take you home." Malia reassured him.

Stiles rubbed at his eyes again and sighed. He wanted to watch Scott so freaking bad, but he couldn't risk having a seizure or a panic attack here again in front of all these people. And he's just not feeling it tonight and that's okay. Stiles stayed silent and grabbed her hand, slowly tilting his head when he looked at her.

"No I'm fine," Stiles smiled in a turn of his mood. 

"You sure?"

Stiles tried to focus on the game. "Mhm."

It was ten straight minutes of silence and watching an action packed game before Stiles said something. "So I'm coming to school on Monday."

"Really?" Malia smiled.

"Yep." Stiles clicked his tongue.

"Are you nervous?"

"Yep."

"Are you thinking about not going anymore?"

"Yep." Stiles chuckled. He pullled away his hand from her, wrapping it around her body close to him instead. She lied against his shoulder, a large gorgeous grin on her face as they watched. 

Stiles' attention drew away from her and onto the field when he noticed something. 

Scott. And someone else? The two boys were brawling on the field.

The coach was yelling out in frustration. "McCall! What the hell are you doing, you idiot!" The referee blew his whistle pro-longingly. Scott came toward the other boy and was pulled back by Liam, before plunging at him. His eyes were crimson red.

"Scott- your eyes, chill out." Liam said, pointing it out to his teammate. Scott looked down, he didn't know what he was doing or why he just wanted to attack the other so badly. His anger got the best of him this time.

The referee forced the two players off the field, and Scott allowed himself to take a break, just to simmer down. 

The coach just started on him as soon as he came to the bench, "I mean- what- WHY- why Scott just give me a great explanation hmm?" He started laughing at him, "I mean really if you wanted to fight on your toes then sign up to be a ballerina McCall! No more dancing on the field I swear to god."

Scott heaved and plumped besides Stiles who pulled away from Malia. "Scotty what happened?"

"I don't know. I kinda just lost it." He took a sip of water, letting the cold fluids refresh his aching body. "It just- it made me so mad that lacrosse did this. It.. It made-" Scott stammered, trying to figure out how to explain it.

"Made me sick?"

Scott nodded.

"Scott I'm sick because it was bound to happen. It just happened earlier I guess." Stiles' voice was raspy and quiet.

"I know I just.. I don't know. I should've been there."

"Don't beat yourself up Scotty. So instead of being so angry, turn it into hype and play the shit out of the game." 

Scott looked at him, letting out a goofy smile. Stiles patted him on the shoulder, reassuring him. Scott got up, putting his helmet back up and got back into the game.

 

"You're really strong, you know that?" Malia said quietly, still wrapped under her love's warmth as she saw her own breath condense in the air.

"I haven't worked out in so long- I'm getting so lanky, what the hell are you talking about?" Stiles kidded.

"You know what I mean." Malia laughed.

Stiles smiled, glancing back at her and kissing her forehead. "Well I have some pretty great people in my life. It makes it so easy." He laid his hand against hers gently and ever so lovingly.

The game continued, as did Malia and Stiles' conversation. Malia consciously threw looks to see that Lydia was still there, cheering the boys on still. And by the end of the game, the two were joined with a roaring bunch of hormonal teenagers cheering out for the boy. 

"We won Stiles! We won for you!" Liam was jumping with excitement, crediting Scott with the game winning hat trick. Stiles was blushing red when the crowd started to cheer for him and the team. Before he knew it, Scott was hugging him incredibly tightly. He hadn't felt this triumphant or happy in a while. 

"We did it buddy." His best friend said. The other boys came over and patted him on the back, wishing him his best in recovery. 

The night ended greatly for Stiles, a win for him. He was dropped off at his house by Malia and Lydia, who wished him a good night.

"How was the game son?" His dad greeted him in.

"It.." Stiles stopped and signed with a genuine grin. "It was great." 

Stiles popped out of his sweatshirt, noticing someone was missing from the conversation. "Where'd Derek go?"

"He's got some stuff to do tonight, he went back to his loft." 

"Oh." Stiles sounded disappointed, he didn't mind the company. 

The sheriff opened up the fridge, "what would you like for dinner?"

Stiles groaned. "I'm not hungry, so no thanks."

John became concerned for a second. "Stiles, you can't stay on an empty stomach."

"I think I'm gonna call it a night. Goodnight Dad." Stiles was already down the hall by the time the sheriff had gotten to say anything.


	20. At Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I apologize for the lack of posting but I've been very busy, I managed to get this chapter done though! I'm not quite sure i like it, but it's a crucial part to the rest of the story so I'll leave it at that. Excuse all my mistakes, these are all written on my phone by the time I'm sleep deprived from schoolwork oops.

The sheriff grew very concerned about his son over the night. He knew it wasn't smart to let him go like that, to skip a meal, but he didn't want to make Stiles feel worse about himself by pointing out a flaw. It seemed like he had had a good night, what went wrong? He swiftly went to his room and opened the door, to find Stiles already lying in bed. He was tucked in, covered under his blanket and his pillow he never slept without. John thought about waking him up as he walked over, gently placing his hand on his forehead, only to find it pretty warm, but not alarmingly warm. The teenager had crash and His father would feel awful to wake him up because he had been so exhausted so he let him be. Then, John sat down at the table with a cup of coffee at 9:30 at night, and decided to phone Melissa.

"Hello?" She picked up. Thank god.

"Hi, Melissa."

"Oh John, is everything okay? Is Stiles fine?" Melissa seemed panicked over the phone.

"Um yeah I wanted to talk to you about that. Did he seem alright at the game tonight?"

"As far as I could tell, he was pretty happy there. He was with Malia the entre game. Why, what happened?" She asked.

"He came home, and he seemed fine but he refused to eat dinner and I didn't want to force him or anything, he was feeling a little sick earlier today." He rubbed at his forehead, softly sighing.

"Is he asleep?" 

"Yeah, he crashed as soon as he came." He explained.

"Well I'd suggest just to keep an eye on him if he gets sick, otherwise maybe he'll just be back to normal in the morning." She tried to reassure him.

"Right, right- sorry I wasted your time." 

"Not at all, you should get some sleep too. Have a good night John."

"Good night Melissa." The sheriff ended the call, putting his phone down and taking a sip of his coffee. Ironic isn't it? He contemplated about waking Stiles. He wouldn't feel so guilty if he gave him some medicine for a headache. John made his way to the medicine cabinet and grabbed an Advil and a water bottle, slowly creeping into his son's room.

"Stiles." He said quietly, trying not to startle him. "Stiles," he repeated again until the boy stirred, slowly opening his eyes.

"D-dad?" He said with a tired voice.

"Stiles- you're a little warm, I don't want you to run a fever so you have to take this medicine okay?" His dad gave him an Advil tablet and he washed it down with water without any questions, slowly closing his eyes doing so. Without saying anything else, the sheriff laid him back down and tossed his blanket over his body as Stiles fell to his exhaustion. 

He sighed, walking grimly back to his little area and took his coffee cup in hand and sat down. John skimmed his work papers, reading a high profile case report that he had just received before allowing his temptations to barge in. He put it away and replaced it with a computer and papers that Melissa gave them from the hospital. The man was frustrated with the lack of knowledge and just needed reassurance that Stiles having a cold isn't that serious. He's already been through this with Claudia- he knows about almost everything there is to know about Frontotemporal Dementia, but this was different with Stiles, the body of the teenager is handling it weirdly and potentially deadlier. John clicked into a link that lead him about Pick's Disease- frontotemporal dementia. He read what he has been reading for years, until he stumbled up something about rapid frontotemporal dementia. 

_"Patients will exhibit behavioral stimulation changes including interactions and reactions between others. Within a course of 2 months from diagnosis, one patient's dementia increased from stage 1 to stage 5, before death approximately 19 days after the two month mark. The deceased patient had previously been bedridden due to semi-paralysis from multiple infections."_

The sheriff immediately clicked out of the link and shutoff his computer. Well. That's enough horror and worry to cover him for the next two years. He was going to worry about Stiles all night now. The sheriff cleaned up his station and retreated back to his own room where he changed and got ready for bed. John thought that maybe it wouldn't hurt to get some sleep, so he shut off the lights and curled in, finally submitting defeat to exhaustion.

Too bad he would have a rude awakening.

Stiles was sound asleep, all in his subconscious mind underneath the mist of a nightmare currently. He didn't know what was going on, at all, it was pitch black. He yelled out, hoping someone would reply back in return.

"Hello!?"

Nothing. 

Lights and buzzing started, brightening up the world and then a gust of wind swooped in before Stiles realized he was on the lacrosse field. There was screaming and chaos everywhere, he couldn't get his brain to focus. 

"Stiles no!" Lydia was screaming, crying hysterically as she begged for mercy.

"Lydia?.." Stiles quietly said, confused on what the hell was going on. He held up his hands and noticed them, covered in red stains. Blood. He looked around him, Malia and Scott were lying on the ground, covered in the same deep red. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.

"Stiles!" Lydia couldn't stop screaming, sobbing as she tried to get closer to the boy.

"No- no, no, no don't get closer to me- stay back Lydia, don't get any closer!" Stiles stepped backwards as he felt his stomach doing acrobatics, and his chest heaved until it concaved. He needed to get the blood off, he doesn't know why, but he just needs it off. Stiles immediately starts sprinting towards the school, away from Scott and away from the blood and bodies and what he did. The blue doors are so close within his grasp, so freaking close and he just throws himself practically at the doors, opening them, and instead of running into the barren school halls he falls into a pool of water. All he can think is "what the hell is going on?" Stiles was drowning and there was no one to save him. 

He woke up in a pant, sweating profusely and attempting to grasp air and pluck it back into his lungs. 

"It was just a dream." He tried to reassure himself. Stiles sat up, catching his breath from the mental rollercoaster and popped out of bed.

It was four hours later after the sheriff fell asleep, and all you could hear was a loud shattering sound. 

The sheriff woke up all shaken up, ready to plunge at an intruder in the house. He jumped out of the bed and quickly opened his drawer and grabbed his gun and tucked it into his pajama pants. Stealthily, John made his way down and around the hall, and right by the kitchen with his gun in hand. The kitchen light was on. Just as he made the corner, the sheriff waved his gun out at the so called intruder, only to find his son, quivering on the floor behind shattered glass.

What the actual hell was going on tonight?

Stiles sat on the floor with his knees up to his chest, holding a bleeding hand close to the ground. His eyes were red, and puffy with small tears filing out. A small glass laid broken in pieces next to him on the floor. The teen was shaking, clearly horrified of what happened.

"Oh god." The sheriff quickly unarmed his gun and put it on the table, and then went on to aid his son. "Stiles, stiles what happened?"

Stiles broke his stare, as if he was in a trance and looked up at his father. "I don't know- I.." he started to whisper, "I just wanted water- I don't even remember what" he started to cry hard.

"Okay, okay Stiles. It's okay, just take it easy. It looks like you cut your hand, so how about I help you get up, and I'll clean it up for you. Okay? Can you do that for me?" John tried to be as supportive as humanly possible. Stiles gave him a nod and used all his strength to pick his weight up onto his legs, and stepped over the glass. The sheriff held his hand with a wrapped towel and braced his arm around his son's body, balancing him on his teetering knees. He felt his son start to give up on his body, "Stiles- stay awake." Silently, they made it down the hall and into the bathroom.

John cautiously opened the bathroom and turned on the light, watching Stiles when he caught his eye on the blood. He felt incredibly dizzy and the sheriff could see it in his eyes. 

"Okay, sit. Sit." John propped Stiles down on the bathroom floor on top of a clean rug. He held tight onto his hand and then let go. "Press down really hard with the towel." He then proceeded to go on to grab the first aid kit from the vanity's cabinet. The sheriff opened up the box and kneeled down, going through the assortments as Stiles' eye lids started to drop. "Stay awake Stiles." He ordered softly, throwing a concerned look to the teen as he took out some gauze and a battle labeled as hydrogen peroxide. He swished a cotton ball around with the liquid, and then took Stiles' hand in his and cleaned up the blood that had seeped into the crevasses of his palm. A long thin gash appeared straight across the front of his hand, red and painful enough when it came in contact with the liquid to make Stiles hiss from the stinging. The sheriff threw another concerned glance as Stiles watched. The older man still couldn't believe that they were sitting on the floor of the bathroom at 1:30 in the morning. After thoroughly washing the wound, John wrapped two layers of gauze around it, securing it tightly before cutting it and putting things away. 

"Does it still hurt?" He asked Stiles.

He shook his head softly and shamefully.

The sheriff sat down across from him, just so he would look him in the eye. It was at that moment where he noticed the hours of no sleep and forced activity that created dark circles underneath his eyes.

"Son."

Stiles looked up at him.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Stiles shook his head slightly, unsure of how to reply. 

"Another nightmare huh?" 

He nodded.

"Well in that case, I will not force you to talk about it. But, and be honest with me, have you been sleeping at all?" 

"I tried. I usually wake up a few times at night. Sometimes I don't wanna fall asleep because I'm afraid-" Stiles stopped himself there, he didn't want to hear his own raspy voice breaking. 

"Afraid of the nightmares?" 

He shook his head. "Afraid of hurting someone or not waking up." 

The words shattered his father's heart, the way he just said it, Stiles didn't even flinch. John wanted to hug him for an hour straight. His eyes veered off into the cabinet Stiles' head was lying against. 

The medicine cabinet.

The sheriff just had an a-ha moment. "Stiles. Did you take your meds today?"

And that's when everything came together, the mixing of not enough doses of the right medicine with the wrong one. Stiles' face went pale.

5 minutes later, Stiles found himself sitting at the dining table with his dad, a tablet and glass of water taunting him in front of his eyes. This wasn't the first time they've done this, or had this conversation they were about to have.

"Son, you're gonna take this with water, then forget about everything that happened, and fall asleep? You got me kid or are you just zoning out?" John smiled, knowing what really was going on behind Stiles' eyes.

"Yes sir." He voluntarily washed down his meds with water and got up and headed towards the kitchen. 

"Stiles where are you going?" John followed him, wonderingly exactly what he was thinking of.

"I have to clean up the glass." Stiles rose his eyebrows. 

"That's okay son, I got it."

"I feel bad- I made the mess you shouldn't have to clean it Dad." Stiles ringed his fingers nervously.

"It's fine, get some sleep." John smiled, gesturing his son towards the hall and got up to clean up the mess.

Stiles sagged to his room, slowly turning in for the night once again as he ruffled into his bed and underneath the blankets. He closed his eyes, and fell asleep, slowly, then all at once. He didn't let his mind run smock this time, he wasn't going to allow them to hold him prisoner anymore. 

The sheriff calmly cleaned up every single shard of the glass that had cracked. He wasn't gonna ask about what happened, and he wasn't gonna ask about what could've happened. Instead, he was just content with the fact that Stiles was going to sleep now, and that there was a reason for what had happened. John disposed of the mess, making sure that no one else could step in any by accident. And with that, he turned off the lights, and retreated to his bed, uneasy of the events that had occurred. John didn't sleep well that night, but it was good while it lasted. 

The birds chirped in the cold crisp air as light shined in on John, waking him up at a solid eight. He's been going to work later lately, but it's not much trouble because really there's just run of the mill cases, robberies, felonies, murders, yeah you might think what the hell thats not normal, but yeah it's better than being supernatural. He forced himself to get out of bed, even though he didn't feel as tired as he thought. John got dressed and texted Derek to stay over for at least breakfast if he didn't want to for the night, to which he gladly replied that he's on his way. Lovely.

John walked by Stiles' room and peeked in through the slight space between the door and the wall, finding Stiles peacefully sleeping, kind of in an awkward, goofy looking way, but it was good enough. He continued on to the kitchen and took out a mix for pancakes and some fruit, and made some coffee. Breakfast was ready by the time Derek had rung the doorbell.

"Good Morning." The sheriff welcomed the young man in. 

"Hello," Derek shined his flashy smile. He looked nice today too, and he had a tote-bag that was almost satchel like but too trendy to be a briefcase, wrapped around his shoulder. 

Derek came in and set down his things, and the two sat for a nice breakfast.

"So, how was your day Derek?" The sheriff tried to make conversation, multitasking by trying to avoid thinking about last night. 

"It was fine." He poured a cup of coffee. At first he stammered, then he got his words in order, "so I went back to the family house."

The sheriff rose his eyebrow. 

"I don't know why- there was just something that brought me back to it. The other day, Stiles and i went and it was actually not that bad."

"Really?" The sheriff smiled. "Wouldn't you like to ever get it fixed up?"

Derek sighed. "I can't touch it- it's too hard to be honest." He started to chuckle, "I'm a 25 year old man and I'm afraid of a house." The sheriff kept smiling.

"I get it, don't wanna let go?" He said gently.

Derek softly stopped, realizing the truth. But then he wore his smile back on, "not just yet. It's not the material of the house things I won't let go, just like everything that's happened inside the walls, and everything that surrounds it." Derek didn't like opening up to many people, but he's been getting too close to the sheriff for it too bother him. "Anyways," he tried to change the subject and John respected it, "how's Stiles doing? Any progress?"

The sheriff sighed, "n-not really uh.." he rubbed at his forehead while Derek listened. "Honest to god I don't uh- really know what happened?" He sounded unsure of himself.

"What happened?"

"I don't know, I woke up in the middle of the night because of a loud crash and you know I got up and I find Stiles sitting on the floor and he's- he's crying. A-and there's glass everywhere and I don't know what happened, all he would tell me was that he had a nightmare." The sheriff explained as he noticed Derek's eyes soften. His mind was flashing back to everything he studied previously. It was happening. "He couldn't remember ever even getting up."

Derek rubbed at his face, feeling guilty for not being there and disheartened to hear. "I'm sorry."

"I am too. You know what this means right?"

Derek nodded his head. "Maybe- maybe he'll get better, maybe it was just a one time thing. We gotta stay positive through the whole thing."

"Right Derek." John smiled, finding it ironic that he was saying that. Okay so maybe, this whole thing with Stiles was softening him up. But that was a good thing right? I mean, no more sour-wolf so. 

They continued small talk about work after disregarding the scary matter before John wished him good bye and went off to the station.


	21. Pysche

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm back for another update! :)
> 
> Disclaimer:
> 
> I'm not responsible for the characters or Teen Wolf itself, nor am I liable on the content and medical information within the writing. I've used many resources from medical textbooks and the internet and do not advise this as professional medical tips, nor do I have such experience. This fic is written solely for the purposes of entertainment and education on relative issues. Thanks

Stiles woke up a while later. He felt horrid- his eyes didn't want to open, and his skin was sweaty and clammy with strands of hair sticking to it. He slowly sat up in his bed, rubbing at his head. A headache was pounding the waves from his brain, making it seem like an ocean of thoughts. He hadn't even given a thought about what happened last night, he just couldn't remember. He checked his phone.

12:07 P.M.

"Fuck, I overslept!"Stiles muttered, quickly forcing himself out of bed and hobbling over to get out of his clothes and into fresh new ones. He didn't have time to shower, he was already late as is- too freaking late for school. Stiles was doing the ants in the pants dance as he slipped into khakis, when he starts to make a lot of ruckus. 

"Stiles?" He heard someone say from down the hall, footsteps emerging closer to his room.

"Yeah? Dad- im late- so freaking late!" He yelled out.

"It's Derek." The voice replied, coming closer until he was at the door. "What are you late for?"

Stiles stopped with a blank face, midway of spraying deodorant before getting a chance to leave his room to wash his face and brush his teeth. 

"Stiles.." Derek started to chuckle. "It's a Saturday."

Stiles felt preeeeeeeetty stupid currently. 

"Right. I knew that." He played it off, resuming to his hectic routine. "Pfft, you thought I was rushing for school at 12 o'clock when it's literally almost done?"

Derek smiled charmingly.

"I did." Stiles then admitted. 

"I'll put down something to eat on the table, I need to talk to you." Derek finished off before leaving to place a cup of orange juice and some pancakes for Stiles, making an afternoon cup of coffee for himself. Stiles started to feel bad now, he felt like he had done something to aggravate Derek. What did he want to talk about?

Stiles decided to quickly shower since he had the time, plus he loved how the cold water feels on his warm body at the morning. As soon as he came out, he changed into newer clothes, and freshener up before taking a seat for "breakfast" across the table from Derek. 

"Did you sleep well?" Derek asked kindly.

Stiles stammered a bit, "um.. y-yeah. When did you come?"

"Before your dad left. He called me," Derek hesitated to finish his thought, wondering if it was crossing the line with the next statement. "Your dad told me what happened last night."

Ooh. Last night was uh.. not good. Stiles seemed shaken up about it when he mentioned it. He just gave him another blank stare, that's Stiles talk for when you say something Stiles doesn't want to hear.

"It was not my best night." Stiles admitted, taking a bite of his food.

"And you don't feel anything about it right now? Anxious, stressed?"

Stiles took another bite. "Mhm." Or at least he wasn't until Derek started talking about it.

"And, you weren't scared about something happening were you?"

Stiles softly muttered, "kinda." But to be honest, he was getting a little annoyed right now. 

"And you didn't want to tell your dad about it? He's really worried you know." 

"OKAY can we just stop talking about this? Jesus." Stiles gave him a dirty look and immediately Derek backed off.

"Sorry."

"Whatever." Stiles seemed ignorant, but it was only to hide how we truly felt. Guilty, anxious, lost, just to name a few. Oh, he's well aware of how it's his fault that his dad is always so tired. Very well aware.

"Anyways." Derek cleared his throat. Oh how awkward it was. "Melissa talked to John."

"Oh so the whole world knows what happened now, I see." The boy snarled again, his mood swinging from friendly to grumpy like the grinch.

Derek glared at him. "They scheduled an appointment for a psychologist today at 2:30." Stiles frowned, upset about it but wasn't willing to fight it, since he already told his father he'd do it for him at least, if not for himself. "Which brings me to my second point, take your meds."

Right.

"I swear if my butt wasn't attached to my body I would've lost it years ago," the teen rebutted sarcastically, retreating to his room to grab the bottle and comes back only to hear Derek tell him, "Melissa said to take the other one too."

"I'm not supposed to take those all the time.." Stiles reputed.

Derek rose an eyebrow, "uh, yes you are. Remember? They got it changed to accommodate your ADHD?"

Dang.   
He totally forgot.  
That's why he's been so off lately.

"It's fine, just try not to miss them anymore it's dangerous to cut them when your body gets used to it." Derek explains, using it as a possible excuse for what happened last night. 

Stiles rose his eyebrows at him. Derek has been so- overprotective? Is that the word? He then went back to his room and took his medicine, coming back out with some books and his backpack. He stacked everything on the table carefully, going from most important subject to least. 

"What-" Derek stammered. "Are you doing homework?" 

"Yep. Being out an entire week totally screwed me over. I missed a term which means no time for retakes after which also means I gotta take it on Monday because the next time I have the class it will be too late." Stiles explained thoroughly. It was his AP Forensic science test. He felt pretty ready, but he needed, absolutely needed an A on this.

"Maybe it would be good for you to just chill out for a while, not be stressed."

Stiles gave him an odd look, "pfft, you know-  
if everyone just didn't worry about me for one split second, maybe I could actually get some stuff done." He tried to brush it off with a laugh.   
He immediately started to work on taking some notes from his textbook.   
Derek eyed him like a fox, noticing his hand started trembling. Stiles perked up. "Hey man, I'd really appreciate it if you didn't watch my every move, thanks."

"Sorry." Derek muttered. Derek looked around him, then saw his own bag sitting beside him and he remembered what he wanted to do. He then looked back at Stiles, concentrating on his writing when Derek noticed the bandage impediment on his right hand.

"What happened to your hand?" Derek knew the answer. He just wanted to hear Stiles say it.

"Um," Stiles glared at him again, clearly annoyed by his antics. "I cut it yesterday."

"Doing what?"

"Stuff."

"Your heart rate rose." Derek said as a matter of fact.

"Seriously dude-," Stiles started, then receiving a glare of Derek's own back. The one that he makes before he goes all wolverine and mauls someone.

"I cut it last night, when I got up I broke a glass." Stiles' face became a crimson red, embarrassed.

Derek felt sheepish for making him say it, and even worse for seeing himself be ashamed but it wasn't Stiles' fault it happened. Derek keeled over to his bag and pulled out a picture and a book. The picture was beautiful, absolutely breathtaking. It was the view of the sunset from a mountain just off a lake. It seemed like there was a cliff, and it was early enough in the morning for part of the moon to be visible. The skies were a dark sheer magenta, swirls of lavender and cotton candy decorating it.

"I'm gonna ask you a favor." Derek slid the photo across to Stiles who took a deep breath, frustrated with the man.

"Derek I'm trying to do some work- seriously I'm gonna fail if I don't study now." The teen reputed.

"It will be quick. I just wanted to test your artistic abilities."

"Okaaaaaaaaay, but I have none. Zero. Zilch. Nada." Stiles elongated the vowel for emphasis.

"I want you," Derek started, sliding the picture and a sketchbook to him, "to draw this." 

"Why? I mean, this is a gorgeous picture- really man, but uh, I'm not into drawing." Stiles started, but then reluctantly accepted the items anyways. "I'll start later, after my appointment."

Derek gave a sly grin and Stiles resumed to his studying efforts.

\--

Derek and Stiles were in the car on the way to the psychologist after they had lunch.

"So, your dad is gonna meet us there hopefully. He'll probably get there towards the end but we'll see." Derek explained, cautiously driving on the highway. "Did you bring your meds?" 

"Yep." Stiles clenched the bag in his hands. He didn't like it when people referred to them as "meds." Meds are for psychotic mental patients at Eichen house, medication is to prevent or influence a disease, or at least that's how he thought of it. 

They soon pulled up into a lovely building, but it seemed a little busy. Stiles doesn't like busy. When they first entered the room, they noticed everything had halted for just a second, and then resumed. The mint green walls were found calming and soothing, and the succulents seemed therapeutic. But Stiles thought they were trying too hard. Derek lead Stiles to the front desk to check in.

"Good Afternoon," Derek flashed his smile. 

The lady, charmed, smiled, "hello! And are you checking in for an appointment?"

Derek nodded, making sure the lady saw Stiles next to him.

"Patient's name?"

"Should be under M. Stilinski." Derek explained, "he goes by Stiles." Stiles groaned when he almost heard his name. Nice. Another person to laugh at him for his name that's longer that their patience.

"Ah yes, with Dr. Jensen." She pulls out two papers, and reads from the screen. "Is he still taking adderall?" 

"No, he-uh, stopped a week ago I think it was."

"Is he still taking Topamax, Lamictal, or Valium?" She asked again.

"He takes Topamax and Lamictal once a day, and Valium was not used yet, its emergency medicine." From what Stiles heard, he was impressed with the older man.

"Okay. I just need an identification of guardian and for you to fill out these while you wait." 

"Okay," he pulled out his drivers license and giving it to her. "His dad is coming, I'm just here to make sure he got here." 

"That's fine." She gave it to him back. "Dr. Jenson will see you in a few minutes."

"Thank you." Derek took the papers and pen in hand and sat down with Stiles. "Are you okay?"

Stiles swallowed, "yeah."

Derek filled out the forms while the teen scrolled on his phone, texting Scott all about it.

Scott: so you're there right now??

Stiles: yes it's real weird i don't like it

Scott: imagine you walk in and the dudes all "I smell fear on you" 

Stiles: not helping!!!! and for all we know it could be a pretty lady.

Scott: well then I will leave you to your very romantic date at the psychologists 

Stiles: work?

Scott: yep

Stiles: see ya scotty

Scott: good luck bud

Stiles shut off his phone when he realized his fingers were shaking. He looked at Derek who was busy filling the form. He saw the words "frontotemporal dementia," "seizures," and "panic attacks/anxiety" scribbled there. It reminded him of just how discombobulated he really was. A few minutes after Derek gave the woman the pages, Stiles thought about last night. It must've been the mix of meds and no sleep today, he hasn't been this jumpy ever since he quit the adderall. His awareness levels were skyrocketing, and he swore he could hear every pen, every phone tap, every breath being taken.

"Mr. Stilinski?" A voice snapped him out, and Derek noticed.

Stiles got up slowly, he started to feel dizzy for a spilt second, but he was okay now. He looked out, dang it- a man. Derek grabbed on to his shoulder. "Do you want me to go with you?"

"I'll be fine." Stiles smiled, following the man into the room. It looked exactly how they were depicted in tv shows. Somewhat. I guess. 

The man shook his hand strongly, "Doctor Caleb Jensen, pleasure meet you, Mr. Stilinski."

Stiles felt so weird, so awkward, "Hi- I uh.. go by Stiles."

"Alright, Stiles. Why don't you have a seat?" The doctor looked inviting, young, and calm. In his head, Stiles scoffed at the couch. He had thought those were only movie or as seen on tv types of things and it made him laugh, but he sat down. 

The doctor sat opposite to him on his chair, looking at paper in his hand. 

"Okay Stiles. First off, I'd like to get to know you first. Why don't you tell me about why you think you're here?"

Stiles met his eyes, but they still shook all around the room as he wrangled his fingers. He didn't like the idea of telling a stranger everything in his life. He didn't feel like giving him his autobiography. "Okay.. well. I- uh..." Stiles rubbed down at his face, tapping his foot rapidly like he used to do in school when he tried to focus but couldn't. 

"You seem tense." The man calmly stated. 

"Just a little nervous." The teen admitted.

"Well, Stiles- you have absolutely nothing to be nervous or embarrassed for here. This is a completely safe zone." Dr. Jense explained. "Why don't you lie down?"

Stiles hesitated at first, but didn't want to fight with the guy so he shuffled his legs and lied down comfortably. He was staring at the ceiling now instead of at him so it tended to his nerves.

"Okay Stiles, let's start again. I want you to tell me about your childhood, and we will work up that way until we get to today and what's going on now. Why don't you start with one of the most powerful memories you have?"

Stiles took a deep breath and shuddered. "Okay. Well, I don't know I mean, I was a normal kid doing normal stuff I guess. I was really into baseball at that time, I used to watch it with my dad, he used to play with me all the time while Mom was cooking or something." Stiles wanted to stop there immediately. "Then, my mom started to get really sick."

Jensen looked down at the papers, "the dementia, just like you right?"

"Just like me." Stiles sadly states. "I honestly don't really remember that much that time. I blocked a lot of stuff out. I was with her, the day she died. I was 9, and.."

"You don't have to continue if you can't," The man tried to make him as comfortable as he possibly could.

Stiles didn't want to be emotional though so he continued. "And for a long time I thought she died because of was my fault. And things just got worse from there, I started having usual panic attacks to the point where I fell asleep. My dad started drinking, he wasn't even sheriff at the time." Jensen nodded his head as he recorded some things.

"So do you feel as this trauma has anything to do with how you're feeling today?" He asked.

"No. Actually, maybe. I can't tell. I guess, my anxiety just got worse from there up all the way until sophomore year, things started getting.... better-ish. I don't know, I mean I had my best friends but uh we had some pretty scary stuff going on in this town. And I felt to blame. Things didn't really get better till junior year, and then that all went down to crap."

"How so?"

"I dealed with a major load of anxiety that year.." Stiles recounted his days about the nogitsune, sending a chill down his spine. "I suffered insomnia for a while, and I ended up admitting for help and everything got better and I finally felt good about myself up until a few weeks ago."

"Do you know what was the cause for that?" He asked again.

"Nightmares, panic. I can't really say too much about it without wanting to punch myself." Stiles tried to swerve around supernatural topics.

"I will respect that. And what happened two weeks ago?"

Stiles closed his eyes for a second, and looked back up at the ceiling, thinking about the past events.

"It was at a lacrosse game." Stiles spoke slowly. "I don't even remember but I remember feeling an impact, and i remember being on the ground. Turns out- I had a seizure in front of everyone. That really did wonders for my self-esteem. And then, so we went to the hospital and they continued so I was diagnosed with epilepsy, but then they found out it was the dementia. So yeah. That's Stiles Stilinski's short lived life." He tried not to laugh at himself.

"Stiles I want you to think about the time since you got out of the hospital and now."

"Alright, well, I left, I had really bad mood swings I guess you'd call him, I flipped out on everyone who tried helping me." Stiles crossed his fingers into each other, locking his hands into a fold on top of his stomach. He counted each in his head as Jensen took down a few notes. "I flipped out at Derek more than I can count."

"Hm?" 

"The guy I came with." Stiles looked at him with wide eyes.

"What's 'er.. your relationship with Derek?" He asked gently.

Stiles blushed, hoping he wasn't thinking what he was implying. "Family friend- currently living with us. He said it was because he didn't want to live in his own home because it was lonely, but I think it's because my dad needed some help with everything going on. I don't really mind it to be honest- I mean I would be a lot madder but I get it so." Stiles looked away and back at the ceiling again. "We go uh.. way back. But he's helped me through seizures, panic attacks, basically everything."

The doctor smiled. "Well, it certainly seems like he's trying his best to keep you safe."

Stiles gave him a skeptical look, but he let it slide. "Yeah.."

"Tell me Stiles, what do you think triggers these seizures." The man knew the answer, he was just playing dumb and it bothered Stiles.

"Anxiety and stress, I know that for a fact."

"And that's why you're here?" He asked. 

"No I'm here for tea and crumpets." Stiles wittily snapped. The doctor gave him an odd look. Stiles' face burned in shame. "S-sorry. I didn't-"

"It's quite alright Stiles." He beckoned, writing something else down. "Defense mechanism?"

"Sorta." Stiles admitted. "I didn't really want to come in all honesty."

"No one ever does." Jensen chuckled slightly.

"I came though." The boy pointed. "I realized that I needed professional help, it just started to get so bad to the point where I couldn't function."

"Well, you see Stiles, that's what separates you from everyone else." The doctor seemed to focus in on the teen, smiling softly. "You recognized you wanted help, and so you went for It. That's more then a lot of people can say. You said you got panic attacks?"

"Get." He corrected. "I still do sometimes," Stiles sighs.

"And can you describe these to me?" 

"I feel like my chest concaves, and I can't breathe. I don't know. I don't really like to think about it. But then I overthink and then well. Yeah." The boy explained. He couldn't believe he was being so open to a.. to a stranger!

"You're taking medication for this though, right? Is it helping at all?" 

Stiles sat up, annoyed with the position he was in and shuffled onto his feet and sat normally so he could talk to the older man. He rested his elbows on his knees, folding his hands nervously. "I uh, don't really take them. I should, but they make me feel awful and so.. aware? Is that even a thing? I usually forget to even take them."

"Mhm. I know what you're talking about, it's increasing your sensitivity, and therefore also increasing your anxiety levels instead of lowering them. I'll see what I can do about that, you'll probably get it changed as it's ineffective." The man made a note about getting another prescription, putting down some odd names of medications on a slip. Stiles looked around the room, it felt empty enough to get him unfocused. The man stared at him for a few seconds, calling out, "Stiles, Stiles." Stiles snapped out of it and focused back on him. "So How do you feel you are doing with the ADHD?"

Stiles realized it was a blow to him because he got lost for a second. "It's uh.. getting better. I get distracted, that's always a given."

"And have you gotten back to school yet?"

Stiles shook his head. Let's not even think about that.

"Describe your academic preformance to me, what do you wanna do in the future Stiles?" He got his pen ready to dash through notes.

"I'm an okay student. I tend to get As and Bs. Honors and AP classes, but uh.. sometimes it's just a little hard avoiding trouble."

"Not picking fights, are we Mr. Stilinski?" Jensen chuckled slightly, giving him a look that said, "UGH teenagers."

"No pft- no of course not. The first day back was just a bit rough. Not fun to spaz out in front of everyone, you know?. But as for my future? I don't know, I wanna go into law enforcement like my dad."

"That's very a nice idea. Well, I think the best thing we can do is to make sure you stay in touch with the school's guidance counselor, and that we get you in here once to twice a month at most. What do you think your goal here is?" The man got up to the file cabinets and started to look at papers upon stacks and stacks.

"I uh.. I'd like for it to get to the point where I don't need to be forced to get help, to sleep and not worry about every freaking thing, and I guess try to make the disease not worse?" Stiles rubbed at his eyes. The way his bones grind past each other made him realize just how exhausted he was. The man continued looking through the papers while he talked.

 

"Right, so the thing with the dementia is that you appear to suffer from severe behavioral variant type FTD, which is explaining the mood swings but soon it's gonna affect other parts of your brain as you probably already know. But in the meantime, when you get home, I want you to take a few minute to sit down with a piece of paper and something still, a case of what have you, and draw it. There's been evidence that patients like these have an increase in artistic ability." Jensen explained to the teen as he wrote down on a slip. This explains exactly what Derek was doing earlier. "However," he continued, "not getting enough sleep can have serious tolls unfortunately." The doctor explained. Tell him something he doesn't know. "Are you- having any major side effects with this?" Stiles couldn't speak about it, he was too embarrassed to talk about it. About last night. "If you don't want to, then don't. It's quite alright."

"No- no I um.. it was just because last night, I was having a bad dream and I mean I haven't really had enough sleep to start with and I ended up sleepwalking into the kitchen and managed to hurt myself." Stiles admitted softly. Jensen hadn't even noticed the bandage around his right hand.

"Have you resorted to sleeping medication?" The man asked.

"I usually fall asleep after taking the anticonvulsants, those things are like sedatives geez." 

"I agree, but they are beneficial for you by reducing the seizures as long as everything is under control. I think it's a good idea to keep taking what you have, and we can talk to your primary doctor for the antipsychotics." Ugh, there was that word again- Stiles despised it. Stiles got up and took a prescription note from Jensen, looking him in the eye. 

"O-okay, is.. Is that all?" Stiles stuttered.

"Well unless you'd like me to know anything else, I think we can call this a very productive day." Dr. Caleb Jensen smiled at Stiles, reaching out for his hand and they shook on it.

"Thank you," Stiles appreciated the time.

"Of course Stiles, I'll reach out to your father for another appointment."

"Thanks again," Stiles smiled cheekily and left the room swiftly, estatic to have finally been done with it.

Stiles walked out, finding Derek to be waiting for him, but his dad was no where in sight. Derek looked down at his watch. "Did you really survive through an hour of that?" Derek chuckled.

"That was an hour? Felt so much quicker, I actually didn't really mind it." Stiles explained, as Derek took a stack of papers with him and lead the way out.

\--

Stiles found himself sitting back at the kitchen table, exactly how they did hours ago. But this time, there was a pencil in his hand, and a piece of drawn-on paper, and it was probably some of the best work Derek's ever seen. And that's a lot said because he's seen Lydia's sketchbook besides all the tree doodles. For what lacked of color, Stiles made up in a half and hour's work of a graphite sunset. Stiles was smiling through the entire thing. He showed it to Derek when it was completed.

"Wow." Derek was laughing, "that's-that's amazing Stiles. And you said you had no artistic ability before?"

"It was very limited. I uh.. dabble sometimes." Stiles cheeks flushed bright red of, for the first time ever, pride, not embarrassment. 

"You are.." Derek hesitated, "pretty amazing." He started at the small drawing, impressed with the abilities, but if the creativity increased, then..

Does that mean the disease is too?


	22. School

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hope you all have had a great 2017 start. This chapters a bit of a mess but I wanted to show the details of Stiles' school day.

Stiles fell asleep on the couch before his dad came. He was still dressed in his khakis and sweatshirt, his converse shoes hanging off the furniture slightly. A stack of binders and textbooks rested on the floor by him, as Stiles was tucked underneath a blanket and on top of a pillow that Derek had put in place for him. He was going through hell, so it was the least Derek could do for the teen. The rest of a weekend was a blur for Stiles; swapping in between small snack breaks- never full meals- and studying and cramming in test materials. He didn't want to think about that test tomorrow. Derek talked with the sheriff, explaining what had happened the day before since he hasn't seen him in almost 15 hours. The older man looked even worse then before, so exhausted and stressed. It was on Saturday night around eleven where the sheriff sat down with Derek, asking him to talk in private.

"Derek, I was wondering.." John started. "You've been so helpful around and caring with Stiles and he seems to really like you around." Derek rose his eyebrows, hoping he wasn't thinking that he wanted a relationship with the boy- everyone keeps thinking that! "We've had this guest room empty for years, it's perfect condition and always clean and maybe if you'd like you can stay there for as long as you'd like? I know you had plans to leave in a few days back to your loft so it's just an alternate option." John smiled, explaining the offer, noticing that Derek has been driving late at night to get home for a good sleep. Derek smiled, of course he said yes, and of course the next day he left, and when he came back early that morning he brought his clothes in a suitcase, accompanied with another briefcase like the other he brought the past day. The sheriff smiled when he saw this, his heart content with the werewolf's decision as he moved in. 

When Stiles woke up, his phone was buzzing underneath his face viciously and it was 6:30 in the morning.

Monday.

He threw his alarm to the side in upset, and got to his feet long before his dad stopped by. "Morning, Kiddo."

"Morning." Stiles yawned. He had already gotten back and done his daily routine- cleaned himself up real nice, and changed clothes.

"Did you have a good night's sleep?"

Stiles stopped. "Actually.." he smiled, "yeah I did." He felt well rested and it pleased him. He hasn't felt this way since freshman year. 

"That's good." John smiled at him, looking at his son patiently. 

Stiles stopped midway. "Dad.." He looked back at him. "I'm fine. Seriously."

"I'm sorry I just- didn't think you should be going back so soon, after.."

"The other night. I know." Stiles' cheeks flushed red with embarrassment. "I took my medication though, a-and I went to the therapy and I'm trying here.  
I really am."

"I know son." John admitted, his hand down on the post of the door. "Just worried." He whispered under his breath before returning to the kitchen to make breakfast. Stiles heard it however, and he knew too, and it disheartened him a bit. He packed his bag, stuffing and jamming as much as he could and repeating several facts about the composition of compound chemical reactions for the test.

"Derek's out waiting for you when you're ready." His dad told him, but by then Stiles was biting down on a piece of toast and out the door with a muffled goodbye. 

He was literally sprinting at this point to get to the car, his flannel loosely flailing against his back. "I'm here- I'm here." He was panting as he plopped down into the seat and quickly buckled in.

"I wasn't gonna drive without you," Derek admitted.

"Yeah but school will start without me!"

"Good point." He turned on ignition and pulled out of the driveway. "You ready for today?"

"So ready. I studied like crap for that test. I swear to god if I don't get an A, I will seriously contemplate about offing myself." Stiles muttered.

"Oh don't say that-" Derek gave him a stern look.

"Ok but that teacher just hates me! I mean absolutely loooooooathes me. Like man you remember Mr. Harrison? The Douchebag. This dude is like seven Harrisons in one human." Stiles explained with an abundant amount of hand gestures.

"Except he probably won't end up being a proficient sacrifice for dark druids that is choked to death and wired up against a tree." 

"Right." That was enough to get Stiles to stop talking.

"Did you get your meds?" Derek asked.

"Yeah- I gotta go to the nurse's to take it. I'll go during lunch." Stiles said in a solemn tone, his excitement plummeted. "And I gotta talk to Mrs. Martin. Like that won't be awkward. Dude I bet you it'll go like, Hi, I'm Stiles. We've met when you kicked me out of the hospital after whacking me with a book, and when I saved your daughter's life. But yeah. I'm crazy and mental according to the doctor, and I suppose you're delighted to meet me again, so here I am!" The boy played sarcastically. 

"Be nice to her, she only wants to help." Derek tried not to laugh or even smile at that.

"Fine fine fine."

Derek pulled into the side of the street, dropping off Stiles who waved goodbye as he meets Scott, Lydia, and Malia.

"Stiles!" They all shouted gleefully, missing their best bud. They haven't seen him since Friday night. 

"Hey guys.." Stiles was a bit embarrassed, the attention brought the gazes of wondering, curious teenagers to him. His friends stuck by close, guarding him from the peering eyes as he made it to his locker. 

"We've gotta go to History, but I'll see you later? I have something I wanna give you." Malia said to Stiles, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek before leaving with Lydia.

Scott laid against the locker as Stiles put away some books, or at least tried to. Now, Stiles didn't have super hearing. But you don't need it to hear the whispers about him in the hall again. 

"Buddy, you okay?"

Stiles looked at his best friend. "Yeah why wouldn't I be?"

"Well last time you were here.." Scott started.

"Scott can we please not talk about last time?" Stiles dismissed the thought and Scott pursed his lips. "I just want to make it through the day without any problems. I've gotta see Mrs. Martin before first period, then gotta go to the nurse during lunch and for a grand finale I get to take the Forensics term exam at the end of the day during my free period." He was doing that thing where his stress talking became faster and faster with the more words that came out of his mouth.

"Okay I know you're stressed but just take it easy okay? I don't want you to.. You know." Scott sheepishly said.

"What? No I don't know Scott. What will happen? Please for the love of god enlighten me!" Stiles snarled. 

"I get it. I'm leaving anyways, class starts in five." Scott reputed, not wanting to fight with him any longer and went his way to class.

"Shit." Stiles muttered under his breath. He tried to focus on putting his stuff away, he was still at his locker but all he could think of was the other week's encounters at school. He jammed everything else in his backpack, and decided to go to Mrs. Martins. Thank god no one was in the halls to stare at him menacingly, or pitifully. He slowly made his way to the guidance counselor's room, knocking on the door and entering only to find Natalie Martin waiting for him. 

"Ah. Good morning Mr. Stilinski." The older woman smiled at him. "Have a seat."

"G'morning." Stiles whispered cautiously as he put his bag down and sat. 

"How are you doing Stiles?"

"Wh- how- how am I doing?" Stiles' eye twitched at the question. Let's see. It's seven in the freaking morning, he's here almost against his will, and he feels like wherever he goes he wants to throw up because of the things people say. "This is my second 'first day' back and I've already heard the rumors, I constantly feel sick to my stomach about the thought of even going to class, it's not even seven thirty yet and I'm already done with people, I just flipped out at Scott, and I'm pretty sure I'm gonna fail my term exam because im a freaking idiot and you're asking me how I'm doing?! I'm doing splendid." 

Natalie rose her brows at his expressive reaction. Stiles' felt his face burning red from sheer shame. 

"Oh my god." He whispered. "I'm sorry- I'm ju- I'm tired." Stiles whsipered, rubbing his hands over his face. 

"How many hours of sleep did you get?" She asked, seemingly not mad at his outburst.

"Like seven?"

"A night?" Natalie countered.

"No just last night, the nights before I couldn't sleep at all. But like currently, I feel um.. I wanna say well-rested but it's more like a restless feeling."

"I see. It's the way you're body's reacting to change, and it's coming out as anxiety essentially." The older women pulled up her laptop. 

"Hmph.. must be school related." Stiles joked, getting a chuckle out of her. 

"Stiles what class do you-" she stopped herself, looking at the time, "are you late to right now."

"AP Chem." Stiles replied. Mrs. Martin nodded, typing away at the computer. "W-why, what are you doing?"

She clicked on the keys. "I just got you out of your first two periods to stay here and work on missed assignments." 

Stiles became estatic. "Oh wow- thank you." He then felt his stomach take a sudden turn. 

"Why don't you show me what you got done while you're out- if anything." Natalie asked of him, and Stiles ignored the gut feeling and pulled out a binder full of packets and notes and pages, chalk full. The woman's eyes widened. "You got all that done?" Stiles nodded.

"Thanks to Lydia and Malia- I uh.. I'm caught up in every class."

"Stiles.." she went through the pages, taking note of the neatness and efficiency she hasn't seen in a while. "You should've been resting- the school would've given you at least two weeks to make up the work, oh my god."

"I had the time," he admitted, looking at his phone that buzzed with texts from Scott.

Scott: Please don't be mad at me.

He took the time to reply.

Stiles: Aren't you in class? And I'm not. 

Scott: Teacher isn't here. 15 minute rule. I know you're mad about things just don't take it out on me 

Stiles decided to turn his phone off when a frown appeared on his face. He bit down on his cheeks, gulping hard before realizing Natalie was talking to him.

"Stiles."

He looked back up. "S-sorry." His mood changed, suddenly his face wasn't all-knowing and matter-of-factingly. It was sad and glum.

"I said, you did a really nice job." She claimed, noticing he wasn't himself. "Are you okay?"

Stiles leaned in in the chair, bringing his elbows to his knees, twiddling nervously with his fingers and looking around. "I'm fine- it's just a headache,"  
he strained, he could feel himself turning beet red. 

"Well why don't you leave your stuff here, and go down to the nurse? You should take your meds to her anyways." Mrs. Martin stood up, placing his backpack off the floor and onto another chair. Stiles nodded cautiously. "Do you want me to come with you?" She asked, bracing his body when she put her hand on his back.

Stiles wanted to say no so bad, so so bad but he was worried he'd pass out on the walk there. It's come to that point where he can't even trust himself. "No m'fine, thanks," he said sheepishly. Natalie kept her hand on his back, making sure he wasn't gonna topple over at any second. He had a bag in his hand full of the three copies of his medicine. He made his way out as she watched him walk down the hall, thinking he would suddenly collapse. The teen took a turn around a hall where he saw a small group of other seniors. Stiles swore underneath his breath, wearing a fake smile as he walked pass. A boy caught his eye as he stared back at him, it was him. He was the one who fought him in the hall the other week. Stiles had to gather every ounce of will power to not sucker-punch the kid right then and there. 

"Hey spaz," he called out, taunting him. Stiles' fingers rolled up into a fist. "Saw your girlfriend today. She didn't look happy." The boy snarled again. 

"Shut up, Todd!" A girl chimed in, giving the boy a nasty look.

"What? I can't help it- he's a lost cause. He can't do anything about it.." Todd snapped back again, this time receiving a little more action from the other teen. Stiles thought about it, he definitely thought about swinging his right arm at him. But he wasn't here to cause trouble, all he could do was look and walk towards Todd. Stiles felt the bandage on his hand prick at his skin as it wrinkled in the tight grip. "What's that Stilinski? What are you on? Meth? Weed? Oh oh let me guess- you're doing cocaine. I knew you were a druggie." He laughed hard, referencing the Medication before looking down at his watch. "Oh no, it's time for your meds Stiles. You should take them before you start having a fit!" Todd joked harshly. 

"Actually no, I'm not a druggie, those guys are more loose, hardcore, y'know? Blood shot eyes- jittery. If you see someone like that, let the principal know. I just wouldn't suggest looking in the mirror if you don't wanna turn yourself in." Stiles grinned, knowing he had just served his own ass handed to him on a plate. 

"You wanna play Stilinski?" Todd grabbed him by the collar of his shirt.

"Ooh are we gonna have a tea party?" He sarcastically threw at him. At that moment Stiles swore he was gonna do it, he was gonna clock 'em real good on the side of the head. 

"Stiles.." She talked. Stiles immediately stopped. What the hell was he doing? Was he really wasting his time and energy on this guy? Really? Stiles put his hand down and looked Todd right in the eyes, releasing himself from his grip.

"You're a coward with rage issues." Todd said.

Stiles backed up, feeling himself boil. He gave the girl a sorry look before silently retreating away from the idiot. "That's right!" The boy taunted again. "Flee. Run away to your feisty girlfriend. You two make a good couple!- the crazy and the dumb!" 

Stiles stopped and turned to him. "Don't you ever freaking touch her." 

Just around the corner came Mrs. Martin who had heard yelling down the hall. "What's going on here?" She pensively asked. 

Stiles' face drew blank. Not because of fear or guilt, mainly just because he couldn't think of anything. "Oh nothing Mrs. Martin, just my friend Stiles and here were- having a discussion," he heard Todd speak.

"During first period when you're supposed to be in class? Next time it'll be a detention Mr. Kane. I suggest you both get the where you're supposed to be. Now." Mrs. Martin threatened, watching the boy and girl scurry away. "Stiles.. I said you were supposed to go the nurse." She acted disappointed in him.

"Sorry I uh.. got distracted." Stiles explained.

"I know. I heard." 

"It wasn't my fault though- I-I need to defend myself!" Stiles claimed, going over the top with his weird hand gestures. 

"I know, I know." Natalie put her hand on his shoulder, leading them the way to the nurse. "Just.. try not to fight anymore? I know with the anger- I get It. But you can't afford to get in trouble. You need to contain it." She softly explained as they walked. 

"Right." This reminded Stiles of a conversation that he had with Scott about Liam. Awkward.

They reached the nurse's offices, greeting her good morning and explaining to Stiles that he was to stay here until he was done, and then was to go back immediately to Natalie's room. The nurse took the bag from the teenager, asking him to sit on the bed as she took his temperature. 

"How are you feeling Stiles?" Her voice was sweet, and young. She reminded him of Ms. McCall. She must have just gotten the job, fresh out of college perhaps. 

"Good."

"Your temperature is a bit higher than it should be. No fever?" She pressed her hands against his forehead which felt a little warm.

"I do have a bit of a headache." 

"Alright. Why don't you just lay down for a while and I'll get your medicine checked in." The woman smiled graciously, making sure he was comfortable as he rested. "Do you take Advil at all?" Stiles swallowed thinking she said Adderall, remembering how it gave him a seizure. But no, this was different. Stiles nodded and was given a tablet to wash down with water. "Did you take any of these medications this morning?"

Stiles' eyes fixed towards the ceiling as he stared up at it. "Yeah, I took one of each everyday, the Lamictal and the Topamax. They're both anticonvulsants but when used together it stabilizes mood and acts as an antipsychotic. And the Valium is for emergency, in case I have one here at school per se." Stiles diligently explained, as the woman silently thought of how impressive it was that he knew exactly what was going on.

"I see here you've been going to therapy?" 

"I started on Saturday."

"That's good- It looks like he wants to prescribe a different medication in place of the Topamax because of side effects? I'll get a list of approved medications for suggestions over to your primary doctor."

"Thank you." Stiles felt himself grin, he felt good for once. Then he felt his eyes drooping, drooping, drooping until they dropped, falling asleep in the nurse's office. He woke up about an hour and a half later to his full disarray and confusion.

"Oh Stiles- you're up," nurse once again smiled as Stiles sat up. All he could think of was, what the hell? "You fell asleep after taking Advil, I guess you probably shouldn't be taking that at school anymore." Stiles ran his hands through his hair.

"I guess not." Stiles blinked until his vision returned. "Crap- what time is it? I have to be in class at third period!" 

"Don't you have lunch third period?"

"Oh. I do.." Stiles said softly, looking up at the clock and swinging his legs around and onto the ground.

"Okay just take it easy.." The nurse prominently said. "If you feel any discomfort or dizziness at all, have a friend bring you back down. Okay?" Stiles nodded, bringing his hand to his face and rubbing it over. The woman eyed the padding on his hand. "Can I ask what that is? It looks like you need a fresh bandage."

"It's just a cut." Stiles explained as she took his hand into hers.

"Looks a bit rough.. how'd you get it?" She pulled off the wrap around his hand, and took the time to clean the slice in his hand even though it was fine. 

"I- I dropped a glass the other day. Took my hand with it." Stiles shuddered a bit just thinking about the night. The nurse nodded, wrapping the thinner bandage around his palm. 

"Is everything alright at home?"

Stiles looked up at her, "yeah, of course." He furrowed his brows, slightly peeved at what she was suggesting. 

"That's good." She finished up and put away the materials. Stiles hopped down from the bed, fiddling with his wrist with the new feel of his hand. 

"Thank you."

"Have a good day Stiles," the nurse sat back down at her desk as he closed the door behind him, and retreated back to Mrs. Martin's room. He knocked on the door when it was closed, she must've been busy with someone, hushing and shushing was heard. But Stiles really needed his bag, and more importantly his phone. Mrs. Martin opened the door.

Lydia. 

Awkward.

"Stiles-" Natalie looked back at her daughter. "You're back- _all in one piece_ , are you feeling any better honey?"

"Uh-y yes," Stiles stuttered, making a face at Lydia and she returned with exaggerated eye rolls. "S-sorry I just wanted- needed I needed my stuff." Stiles tripped over his words. 

"Oh of course.." Natalie said, trying to not get in between the two and pulled together all of his binders of the desk. Stiles struggled, confused and nervous as he fumbled with his backpack, tossing everything in there and _smoothly_ getting himself together. His eye twitched, grabbing his bag by the strap. "I'm gon- I'm gonna go, thank you." Stiles said quietly before leaving the room. He sighed of relief. He had no idea what the hell had just happened, he just felt so- so nervous? Anxious? It felt like a mini panic attack. He had felt fine before, rested and actually pretty good, but then he just saw her- oh man. He felt every inch of his body go red from, his nose twitched and the headache welcomed itself back. 

"Stiles-" Lydia yelled out, her high heels clicking-clacking against the ground. "I'll walk to lunch you with you," she said pursing her lips as she catches up to him. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Stiles tries not to look at her, wondering what will pop out of his mouth.

"Well are you okay?" She asked concerned.

"Giddy."

Lydia narrowed her eyes. "How was class? How was the nurse? Did you talk to my mom? What did-" Lydia rambled on before being interrupted, noticing that Stiles looked angry, pissed as he walked quickly.

"Lydia." Stiles stopped her. "I'm fine." His gaze crossed into hers. You know, freshman Stiles would've killed for this, hell junior Stiles would've, but he's in love with someone else. 

"Well you don't look fine!"

"Lydia." Stiles said in a hushed tone, stopping in the middle of a busy hall. _"I'm fine. Yes I talked with your mom, no I didn't go to class, yes i did all my freaking homework, yes I did fight Todd freaking Kane in the hall, and yes i did go to the freaking nurse!"_ Stiles burst, closing his eyes real tight. "I- I'm sorry, I need.. I need to work on that." He wrangled with his fingers. 

"Its okay." She smiled comfortably at him. "Let's grab lunch?" Stiles nodded, walking with her until being stopped by the girl he saw earlier the hall. 

Ally.

"Stiles." She quietly interrupted.

"Uh.. I'll catch up with you later." Stiles smiled at her, walking away to speak with Ally. The girl blushed as she talked with him.

"I'm sorry about Todd earlier today. I don't even know what I'm doing with him." 

Stiles held his hand behind his head and grinned awkwardly, "yeah yeah, no- it's totally fine-"

"I just wanted to know if you were doing okay, with everything?"

"I'm feeling p-pretty good actually," Stiles smiled.

She went inside her bag and dug through stuff, pulling out a small envelope. "Good good,  
Um..anyways, I- we wanted to give you this, you know- to get well."

"We?"

"Oh the swim team, right I probably should've started with that." Aly chuckled softly, "hell, i made this so awkward I'm sorry."

Stiles glowed when he received the envelope, he was so happy and grateful that others had thought of him. He laughed with her politely, "no, no of course not! Thank you wow, t-thanks, that's so nice of you." He grinned proudly, that achey-painful feeling had finally gone away. Stiles felt all warm and tingly on the inside, he felt so damn good right now oh my god. 

"We were happy to do it." She smiled big, feeling generous and awkwardly shifted. "I'll let you get back to your lunch. See you later maybe?"

"Yeah, yeah totally." Stiles couldn't stop smiling, turning around to go grab a lunch. He made his way through the hustling room, thankfully going unspotted as he plopped down next to Scott. Stiles sighed loudly of exhaustion. 

"Dude." Scott smiled, everyone at the table all cheered at the boy's presence. 

"Thanks guys." Stiles tiredly smiled.

"How's it going?" Liam asked.

"It's uh.. going good, thanks." Stiles replied, putting the envelope in his bag. 

"You feeling good? Better?" Mason asked to reassure.

"Guys yes I'm fine. Seriously." Stiles smirked. "I know you're all worried but seriously I'm doing good."

"Well." Lydia said.

"What?"

"It's well not good." She corrected, causing the table to erupt in small chuckle at the sight of Stiles' visible annoyance. 

"Ha-ha." Stiles said sarcastically. The period was mainly made of small talk interrupted by groups of kids every few minutes or so coming to say hello to Stiles. They asked him how he was doing, and some even asked how it's been coming back to school, and all of his friends couldn't have been more supportive. But Stiles kinda wished he had more time with just them, as thankful and kind he felt for everyone's care, he just didn't have enough time. And now here he was, sitting across from Malia, wondering why she hasn't said anything all lunch, but before he gets the chance to ask- the bell rings. Of course.

"Hey man, you're  
coming to class?" Scott said, turning it into a doubt-filled question. Stiles nodded, walking to Econ with his bet friend. 

"Do you think Malia's mad at me? She.. she hasn't said anything to me at all since this morning and- do you think it's because I was talking to Ally?" Stiles started to worry about his girl.

"Nah, I think she's just a little tired." Scott said.

"Of what- from me? Man she must've been getting all sorts of looks today, shit." Stiles sighed again, slowly approaching Coach's class.

"No," Scott chuckled, "she's probably just tired man- All I know is that she was at her dad's all week. Just don't worry about, okay? She's probably fine. At least we know it's terrifying men in doctor suits drilling holes in our heads." Scott joked.

"Not FUNNY Scott. I will have you know I went through a hell of a lot during tha-" Stiles spoke as he entered the class room and was interrupted by a loud voice.

"Stilinski!"

 _"-jesuschristholymotherofgod"_ Stiles jumped, scared from the Coach's eruptions.

"You're back kid! How's it going? Good? Take a seat!"

"Uh good Coach, ho-how are you?" He asked back, finding a seat in the back of the room where it was actually empty, but he noticed a lot of eyes following him still. 

"I'm just dandy." Coach's eyes were crazy, which meant someone had driven him crazy, which was probably the second period class so Stiles really really really did not want to piss him off. Scott sat right in front of him as the class started to settle in. "Alright. Why don't we start with chapter twelve's notes on the uprise and start of the Great Depression in the 1930s? You all should remember this from fifth grade! Hm? Stilinski- why don't you start us off?" 

Stiles perked up, frightened, crap, crap, crap, notes, notes where are the notes? He fumbled through piles of papers he hadn't organized. "Uh.. Coach, Stiles wasn't here the entire last week." Scott spoke up.

"Dosing off huh Stilinski?" Another boy chimed in. 

"McLaughlin, shut it." Coach defended him. "Don't act so innocent." The class started to cackle. Yet still, Stiles played around with the paper, failing to find his homework. His face started getting red, and boiled at the first sign of nervousness. 

"Should I start with somebody Stiles?" The Coach asked pensively. 

"No, no, I got it- I just need to find it." 

"Dude seriously I'll just read mine, don't worry about it," Scott turned around, whispering to his friend. 

"No I got it Scott," Stiles gave him a look and frantically searched until he finally found it. Oh thank god, his penmanship was neat enough to read. "Found it." He informed the class before starting to read his summary of the entire chapter from the textbook. Stiles' use of the information really stood out in this, doodles of random lines forming designs covered the edges slightly. It was like giving a speech, except the Coach wasn't so bored and unimpressed. It was actually quite the opposite when Stiles' homework started to turn heads when he finished reading.

Finstock looked at him for a good minute, freaking him out.

"Oh god, don't tell me I did the wrong chapter." Stiles concluded.

"Not at all- that was very impressive, that's essay quality written by someone who wasn't even here for the lesson, while you numbskulls can't even figure out the pencil sharpener! Attaboy!" The coach praised Stiles for the first time in his life, ever. Oh thank god, Stiles smiled sheepishly, trying to hide away from the eyes again as he started to drag his pencil around the page. The man went on to explain the process of bootleggers working through undercover secret operations, as Stiles half listened, half drew. He knew it was lame of him, and he probably should've been paying attention but his brain preferred otherwise. The next time he blinked he had ended up in calculus class with Lydia, and before he knew it, she wasn't helping him with notes anymore and instead he was sitting face to face with the forensics test during the last period of the day. 

Crap.

Stiles knew Mr. Brown was watching him like a hawk. He had introduced the test to the student so awkwardly however, welcoming Stiles back. It always started with the, "Welcome back Mr. Stilinski, we hope that you can bounce back to getting the work done after recuperating," and always ends with the, "is everything okay at home?" speech. Stiles tried hard to not roll his eyes at him, because he noticed how the teacher was actually being quite polite. And of course, he finished it off with "you have until the end of the period to finish, whatever's not will be marked wrong." The Cherry on the top of the ice cream sundae.

Stiles flicked through the packet, nervously clicking his pen until he received a look from Mr. Brown. Stiles' mind drew blank.

Shit.

He was sure Mr. Brown was eyeing him down as he thought. He was 100% sure. He hadn't even looked at the first question before Mr. Brown interrupted him.

"Having trouble Mr. Stilinski? Thought Block?"

Stiles perked up, stuttering nervously. "N-no.. no, just uh.. tryna' get my thoughts in order.. thought train wreck." He realized he probably shouldn't have said that last one. 

"Well get through what you can. All you need is a 65 to pass the test." The man calmly said as he corrected papers.

"A 65 won't look so great on my college transcripts," Stiles muttered, filling in his first question's answer.

Mr. Brown put down his pen. "You have to allow yourself to be okay with not getting a 100 Stiles." He looked up at the boy. "Look me in the eye and tell me whether you studied or not."

Stiles cracked under his gaze, but he calmed his nerves and met his eyes, "I studied. Efficiently I might add."

"Then you'll do fine." Mr. Brown looked at the watch. "You have 60 minutes left." 

Stiles started reading questions, realizing that what the hell, he knew this stuff! He knew what the Frye Standard was, he knew how to explain the Nolo Contendre. Then he realized again there were more pages, in which he wasn't as confident in unfortunately. He took a deep breath, and tried his best. Minutes went by and after listening to the clock tick and his pen click, Stiles started to get unfocused. 

_No, stop that! Jesus. Focus. Okay, I have forty minutes left. That means I get four sets of ten minutes. Okay Stiles, you can do this. Ok, What word did the ancient Greeks use to indicate the proper harmony of feeling and intelligence? Skip. Forensic scientists are obligated to combine scientific skills with a sworn duty to the public good. Therefore, forensic science is often called what? Skip that too. Court-approved information that the jury is allowed to consider when determining a defendant's guilt or innocence is called the what? Finally, one I can answer. Wait, nope I lied. Skip. The first responder to a crime scene does what? He goes "what the hell," the walls away. No, no stop that! Focus. Okay you know these- you know these Stiles you studied your ass off, I got this._

He went back to the previous questions that he skipped, deciding upon selected answers as he went through the test after realizing they were actually quite simple. Every now and then he'd look up at Mr. Brown and they'd both make eye contact, which was a bit awkward but it happened. After about 30 minutes more, Stiles couldn't take it anymore. He was just so frustrated with himself that he couldn't think straight enough just to finish this last page. 

_Shit, I'm gonna fail this entire freaking test._

Stiles felt that achey feeling come back, along with it a migraine. 

"You doing alright Mr. Stilinski?" Mr. Brown looked up, concerned.

"Uh- yea- yes." Stiles tried to say calmly, but then his heart started to pound when Brown got up towards him. His face went tomato red, and he felt dazed. It's a constant thing he's been feeling lately. The older man grabbed his test, flipping through it, and then looking at his watch.

"You've got enough time to finish up. Why don't you go grab a drink of water, take a two minute walk?" Mr. Brown reassured him, looking at the few questions left. Stiles blinked for a second, wondering if he had fallen asleep and this was a dream. But it wasn't, the guy was actually being genuinely nice. The teenager nodded, getting up and making his way towards his locker cautiously and opened it to grab his water bottle. He took a few seconds to catch his breath and went to the bathroom. Stiles looked in the mirror. Dang, he _looked_ frightened, or like he just had a heart attack. Water was splashed gently against his face, trying to wake himself up and dried himself of with his flannel which he took off. He stuffed into his locker, content with his shirt and feeling well enough that he returned to class. He quietly crept back in, grateful that Mr. Brown wasn't staring at him as he did so and took a seat. 

Seven minutes till the bell rings. 

_Okay Stiles, 9 more to go. Ok, I know this one, and that, and that one, I can guess that I guess, ha! Guessing on my own guess. I'm a loser. Ohmygod ok, ok focus! Oooooh I don't know that, or at least I don't think. Ok so uh.. I definitely know 3 of these, which means.. six possible wrong questions. Nice._ Stiles thought to himself again, filling in what he could and then taking the time to guess on what he didn't know and barely finished within the allotted time.

"Two more minutes." Brown hounded.

Stiles was just finishing up his second to last fill in question, and then took a jab at the short answer. He didn't really get what the question was asking but he couldn't afford to leave it blank so he did what he could. The boy went back and checked his work, counting up all the questions he wasn't totally sure of. 

_67? I'm gonna get 67 questions wrong out of 80. Oh how lovely, go me._

In all fairness, he was just giving himself a hard time, because really he did know the answers. He shot up just as the bell rang and decided to hand it in.

"Are you sure you're done Stiles?" His deep voice brooded.

"Yes, positive, I'm 100% sure." Stiles decided to smile. You know, maybe that's why he hates him, because he doesn't smile in his class.

"Well, then have a good afternoon Mr. Stilinski." Mr. Brown said, sending Stiles out the door when he wished him the same. 

"How'd it go?" Scott was waiting for Stiles outside the door.

"It went great Scotty." Stiles said.

"Really?" 

"No I totally bombed but ya'know." Stiles chuckled.

Stiles and Scott had gotten ready and met up with Lydia and Malia.

Malia pulled Stiles to the side, "we'll see you guys later!" She said to Lydia and Scott, signaling that she wanted to be alone with him outside. Malia smiled, taking his hand in hers.

"Oh man, I thought I was in trouble." Stiles admitted. "We didn't talk all day- I thought you were made at me."

"No, no, no. I wanted to give you this." Malia said, pulling out a small box. "Open it."

"Is there gonna be a dead rabbit?"

Malia shook her head. "Promise." Stiles carefully lifted the small lid, revealing a ticket. 

"What's this?" Stiles rose his eyebrows curiously.

"The school's having a benefit dance in your name on Friday, and I wanted you to be my date." 

"What?" Stiles felt his throat go dry. 

"We know about the bills and all- the tickets revenue goes to your family to pay for them." Malia was glowing when she smiled. 

Stiles' eyes widened. "That's.. that's amazing." He started to softly chuckle. "Oh my god that's awesome. T-thank you.."

"There's something else, look underneath it."

Stiles pulled a piece of tissue paper from underneath, revealing a glistening silver chain.

"It's a bracelet- I didn't know if you'd wear it, Lydia liked it for you so I went with it." She said as Stiles felt the smooth bezels of the bracelet, solid silver chains intertwined into each other. He looked at the lock end of the bracelet, noticing a teeny tiny anchor engraved into it. Stiles felt his eyes start to well.

"I thought it would look nice- because you're my anchor," Malia looked at him, explaining the sentiment. When she saw Stiles with no reaction, she felt bad and doubtful. "Oh no. You don't like it," she felt her stomach drop, "that's okay um- I can- it's okay if you don't like it. Malia hesitated, regretting the whole idea. 

"No, no it's-" Stiles started crying, small amounts of tears falling down. He stuffed the inside of his elbow against his eyes to hide the tears. "It's beautiful- you're beautiful, I- I thought you were mad at me and I don't know this day was just so bad and you make me so happy and shit I don't even know why I'm crying," Stiles sniffled rambling about it. He loved the gift, and he loved her. Stiles hugged her tight, clutching her side and pulled in for a kiss.

"I'll drive you home." Malia smiled.


	23. Blackout

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another one :) getting a bit closer to the climax of the story!

Stiles got home exhausted that day, sneaking into the house since he knew his dad wasn't home. He plopped his bag down on the kitchen table and sat down and started his homework. He looked at the box from Malia, and fumbled with the chain until he fitted it perfectly on his wrist. Stiles longingly admired it before he focused back again on his work. He made a mental to-do list; makeup work, then study for tomorrow's Chem test, then homework. The pencil was put to work studied for hours, and before you knew it, Stiles succumbed to exhaustion.

Derek jingled his keys that were made for him into the door and came in the house, coming to a scene of scattered papers and a boy with his face stuck to the table napping. He snickered at the dumb move, contemplating slightly about whether or not he should slam the door real hard and scare him, but Derek realized he might get _too_ scared. He carefully closed the door to avoid a cranky teenager. The man made it all the way to his room and returned to his work. 

It wasn't until Stiles' phone rang on top his hand at about six o'clock when Stiles jumped, falling out the chair as he fumbled with the phone. Laying on the ground, he answered the phone groggily.

"Hello?" Stiles blinked, trying to get that dizzy feeling away from his eyes.

"Hey Stiles, just calling to check in. How is everything?" He heard his dad's voice echo against the sound waves.

 

"Goooood." The world elongated itself, coming out awkwardly.

"I talked to Natalie and the nurse."

"Ya' did?" Stiles got back up to his chair, Derek staring at him wondering what that loud thud was.

"Yep.." John sighed. "-I gotta go, work calls. I'm gonna be home late tonight, so call me when you need to okay bud?" 

"Okay dad," Stiles hung up on his phone.

Derek walked in, a coffee mug in his hand and took a seat as Stiles worked again.

"Long day?" The brooding alpha questioned, receiving a nod from Stiles who ignored him and continued. "Stiles you've been doing homework since you came home. You should take a break."

"I need to finish, I literally have two sentences left man." Stiles said softly but he seemed pissed.

"Did you have a good day at school?" Derek asked. The man watched him pensively until he put down his pen, and then started to rapidly tuck everything into his backpack. He picked it up and retreated to his room, closing the door in behind him. Okay, so maybe he didn't want to talk.

Derek immediately followed him, pushing himself against the door. "Stiles- what happened?"

"Nothing." Stiles muttered.

Derek forced himself into the room, budging the door. The lock was juggled up and down until it opened, revealing Stiles plopped on top of his bed.

"Get out Derek." Stiles taunted all raunchy-like. 

"I-"

"I'm just tired. That's all." His voice went softer this time. Derek nodded his head, and closed the door behind him. His concern for the teen started to sky rocket. 

\--

The next day was even worse for Stiles.

Stiles was up with all smiles. The thought occurred to him that morning as he looked in the mirror. Smiled didn't appear on his face as much anymore; he'll try to fix that. And he doesn't really laugh as much anymore either. 

It's a work in progress.

His hair was getting a bit longer then he liked from the lack of grooming. Darkness shrouded his eyes from the lack of a restful sleep. And he should shave today noticing a bit of a fuzz on his upper lip coming in that he did not welcome. Stiles lifted up his shirt as he took it off, noticing how his core was starting to lose definition from lack of proper eating and exercise. It really opened his opens to the fact that he isn't eating enough. His arm still hurt every once in a while, but the pain was manageable. In a few minutes, the shower was running and then turned off. Stiles came out fresh, and clean, no stubble coming in, no greasy not groomed hair. Ah, now he felt presentable.

His father came in to wake him up but found him already dressed instead of being late. 

"Good morning dad." Stiles gleamed, giving him a big hug then retreating to the kitchen for a quick breakfast after reviewing a weird look from John.

"Good morning Derek." The teenager said cheerfully, forgetting the stern unpleasant attitude he had acquired the night before. 

"Morning sunshine." Derek sarcastically spoke, sipping his usual A.M. coffee.

Stiles sat down for a drink of orange juice and toast, munching away his worries. "You finished your homework?" His father pondered.

"Yeah only took me seventeen hours jeez." Stiles downed his breakfast with a drink. He then suddenly felt awful with the realization that he has school. He has to go back to that damn building for seven more hours only to deal with idiots, unsympathetic teachers, and harassment. Suddenly, he didn't have much of an appetite anymore when thought about the Chem test he had today. 

"Stiles son, are you good?" John noticed the sudden mood swing. 

"Uh, yeah- yeah I, I'll be in the car." Stiles scrambled out of the house, scrolling on his phone through a bombarding of text messages as he tried to make himself feel better. All these awkward combinations of unknown numbers had popped up on his screen with texts from all these different kids from school.  
 _  
Hey it's Alexa, Scott gave me your number, just wanted to say feel better! :-)_

_Stiles it's Kalen from Bio, feel better dude, saw you in school today, didn't know if you were ok or not. Text back?_

_hey it's Madelyn!! I'm sending good vibes your way!!_

The corners of his cheeks wanted to curl up into a grand smile but he just couldn't do it. He felt so- off. Stiles got in the sheriff's truck, seeing his dad come his way. John opened the door and got seated, pulling his seatbelt in. "Ready?"

Stiles glared out the window in front of him, nodding slightly and just as John had turned on the ignition, Stiles completely lost it. His chest felt heavy and his face started turning tomato red, a deep crimson red spotted his cheeks. John drove cautiously, noticing something off about his son as he constantly looked back. It was about two minutes in when John asked if he was okay.

"Y-yeah-" Stiles stopped, looking around nervously like a deer in the headlights. Suddenly his throat swelled from the inside out, as his stomach tried clawing its way out. Cotton filled his mouth, making it feel dry and he couldn't make sense of what was going anymore when his chest heaved up and down heavily. Stiles started to sweat, frantically panicking as he played with his jacket to get it off.

"I need to- need to get this off," Stiles panted, fumbling underneath the seatbelt until he was released from the fabric enclosure. His face was crimson red, exasperation and fear filled his eyes in the form of tears.

"Stiles-" John exclaimed, knowing exactly what was going on as he pulled over into an empty parking space in a few streets before the school. 

"Icantbreathe-" Stiles' attempts for breaths were exchanged for sobs when he held his hands up to his face, hiding his eyes from any incoming danger.

"Stiles, you're okay, it's okay." John unbuckled his and Stiles' seat belts and placed his hand on his son's. It ran up and down his bare arms now as he tried to comfort Stiles. "You're having an anxiety attack, you're gonna be fine." The sheriff calmly spoke to the trembling teenager, reassuring him of his safety.

Stiles cried, _hard_ , bending forward as he buried his face in his hands once again. He was so sure of an impending doom, of danger and a source for his fear. He was sure, he's not crazy. Right? But, Stiles couldn't focus, his heart was beating out of his chest and Stiles sat there like a wimp and physically bawled his eyes out. Every now and then he'd whisper a slight, "oh my god, oh my god." Icy tendrils up in his veins sent sheer terror to his rapidly beating heart.

"You're okay son, okay? Listen to me, you're safe. Nothing's gonna hurt you, I promise." John said calmly again.

Stiles rocked back and forth, trying to at least breathe. He couldn't see, his vision was clouded by glassy tears that threatened to gush like a river. Stiles forced his hands down on his lapk and tried to regain his masculinity but failed. Instead, he just silently let tears drip, 

drip,

drip.

John reached over for his hand, placing his over the boy's. "It's okay, you're okay son, just take your time."

Stiles couldn't get a hold of himself. "I'msorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorry-" Stiles whispered sheepishly, covering his face again. 

"No, no, no it's okay- hey it's okay," His father tried to reassure when Stiles starts to sob hysterically, racing against his own heartbeat to get a good breath of oxygen in. Stiles' nose wrinkled, running his hands through his hair forcefully and he closed his eyes. Eventually the crying stopped when he became so out of breath. "Stiles- breathe, 1. 2. 1. 2." The sheriff put his hand down on his son's chest, crossing his body. "You see- it's still beating," he said referring to Stiles' heart. Stiles put his hand over his own father's, squeezing it tightly as he tried to gain control again. Stiles let out another sob, pinching at his eyes to hide the tears.

" _Idontknowwhythisishappening-_ " Stiles slurred his words, somehow managing to speak through the attack.

John rubbed his chest in a circular motion trying to give him comfort. "It's okay, take your time- it's okay," John repeated. Soon his heart palpitations slowed, and so did his crying. Stiles stared out the front window in embarrassment.

"Are you okay now?" John asked in a concerned fashion.

Stiles nodded his head. "I'm sorry Dad, I- I don't know why that happened," Stiles said quietly. He couldn't bare the shame.

"Don't ever apologize for something like that." John said. There was a long pause as Stiles rubbed his eyes, and laid his head against the glass of the window next to him. He was tired now, and his head ached from all the crying. He was pretty sure he sobbed enough tears to fill an ocean's worth.

Stilinski hesitated to ask, but eventually he had to as they were parked in the street. He looked at his phone with missed texts.

_N. Martin: Stiles hasn't come yet. Is everything all right? He isn't even in school. ___

__John then took a look at the time. Class started twenty minutes ago, and by now you would think the school would've called him. They had spent almost forty minutes in the car? How the hell did the anxiety attack last then? "Was that about school?"_ _

__Stiles glared at his father with wide eyes. Oh crap, school. Shit, he had that damn chemistry test today, and all that make up work due, and the rough draft of his history essay, and his prenup draft for econ and-_ _

__"Stiles?"_ _

__The teenager nodded. "I- I think so."_ _

__Stilinski sighed, taking a good like at the dark circles under his son's eyes. They'd become so familiar that he's so used to seeing them and not make a fuss. He started up the car, and instead of going forward towards the school, he pulled out and took a U-turn._ _

__"Dad where are you going?" Stiles asked, annoyed that he was already almost half an hour late._ _

__"Home."_ _

__"What?! Dad, seriously turn around!"_ _

__"Stiles, I'm taking you home, and you're going to eat well and then sleep well, you're not going to school." The sheriff said grimly, knowing that he's doing this for his son's well being._ _

__"Dad I studied my ass off for that test today! I can't just put it off," Stiles reputed, clearly insane and not thinking right for wanting to go back to the hell hole instead of underneath his covers of his own bed._ _

__"When's that?"_ _

__"Second to last block. Fourth period."_ _

__"Then I'll have Derek drop you off then."_ _

__That was the end of the conversation. When the sheriff pulled into the driveway of the house, Stiles angrily got out of the car and slammed the door oh ever-so-quietly, and then did the same to the house's front door as John called out his name. Stiles stopped at the doorway, realizing he just burst at his father, who just pulled him out of an anxiety attack.  
Shit._ _

__"Stiles?" Derek said surprised. "Aren't you supposed to be at school?"_ _

__Stiles backed up out of the house and met with his dad. He ran his hand through his hair. "Dad I am so sorry-"_ _

__"Stiles." John said._ _

__"-I'm the worst son ever and I should be estatic that I have a few hours off and I'm sorry for what happened in the car and I'm sorry I slammed the door and I have no idea what the hell was going and-" Stiles spoke incredibly fast, rambling about the shitty morning._ _

__"Stiles." His dad interrupted again, this time Stiles stopped and looked at him in the eyes, his own starting to water. "It's okay kid. Okay?" Stiles nodded his head before turning around. John's hand was on his shoulder as they walked in. Derek eyed the sheriff who signaled him not to say anything. Derek's nose scrunched and twisted when the lewd smell of anxiety, stress, and despair. Stiles went off to bury himself in his room as the sheriff had a talk with the alpha wolf._ _

__"What happened?" Derek asked, all ears. Even perky wolf ones._ _

__"He had an anxiety attack in the car, it was awful." John took a seat. "It lasted about twenty minutes of him crying." He noticed Derek's eyes soften._ _

__"Is that different than a panic attack?"_ _

__"Yes- usually it's less physical and more emotional than a panic attack, and those need more of a trigger than these." John explained as Derek nodded. "It just came out of the blue. He said it's because of school but uh-.. I don't know about that."_ _

__"So what did you do?"_ _

__"He's just going in late so he can take a test- which brings me to asking you if you could drive him to school at one?" Stilinski started to get up, pulling his keys tightly to him._ _

__"Yeah- of course,"_ _

__"Thank you, I gotta get going." The sheriff thanked him and left for work._ _

__It was at that point where Derek felt the utmost sympathy for the boy. It was starting to get bad._ _

__\--_ _

__That day had gone on by rather quickly. John had called Natalie, explaining what had happened earlier and she gave him his heart and reached out to him. Stiles had fallen asleep while studying even more until Derek had woken him up. The older man had made sure he got there safely, and within an hour, Stiles was back at home. Everyone questioned his absence. They wondered whether he was okay, or if he just skipped. But he ignored them, he just didn't have the time. He didn't even see his friends that afternoon because Natalie had thought it was best if he took the test in her office through the last two periods. Coming to school was awkward enough, and that happening was just extra. It was an odd two hours with the woman as she stared him down, constantly reminding him to take a deep breath when he started to get tense. It took him one and a half hours to finish a test he should've been done with in thirty minutes. And the end of the day, Derek drove him home where he went on to plop down against his bed. The hours and days were just starting to repeat themselves. This cycle of sleep, cry, stress has been coming too familiar to him. Sleep was being taken so crudely from him. That night he lied awake in bed, afraid to fall asleep that he might have another nightmare considering he'd gone through a lot of caffeine to stay awake. When his dad opened the door, he closed his eyes and pretended to sleep. It hurt Stiles more than it would've hurt his dad._ _

__The next day was even worse. He totally regretted his plan from last night. His dad noticed, Derek noticed, everyone noticed that Stiles was tired except for himself. And to think, the day was off to a great start._ _

__Stiles sat across from Mrs. Martin during first period as she stared at him timidly. "Stiles- did you get any sleep at all?" Natalie looked at the pale boy._ _

__"Yeah, I just slept a bit more than I should've." Total lie. Currently he sleeps 1/15 of what he should._ _

__Natalie squinted at him worryingly. "You sure?"_ _

__"Yes Mrs. Martin," he grinned at her politely._ _

__The woman pulled out two packets from her desk. "I thought you might wanted to see these." It was his forensics and chemistry tests. "I asked your teachers to correct them directly because I knew you'd be anxious to see them." She showed him the pages, circled was a 97% on one and 100% on the other._ _

__"What the hell..?" Stiles whispered to himself. "No way," he couldn't believe it. He flipped through the pages to make sure this really was his test. Stiles was so freaking proud of himself for pulling it off!_ _

__"I think this is pretty amazing work." Natalie applauded him. They talked on how he thinks he could make his school work even better, and of course other things too. This talk went by a lot quicker this time as he resumed to his first period class. Stiles was excited to tell Lydia and Scott how well he did on the two tests, but suddenly he didn't feel like it, and he felt.. heavy? Is that the word?_ _

__Stiles sat down at the table where Scott sat._ _

__"Alright Class, you're going to get back your exam you took yesterday. I graded them pretty quickly considering most of you answered them pretty quickly.. incorrectly." The woman explained, handing back the folded papers with red ink to the students. Sounds of groans and disgust escaped their mouths._ _

__Scott frowned as he received his._ _

__"What is it?" Stiles asked._ _

__"80." Scott sighed, "I'm barely cutting a C in this class, I needed an A to boost it up to a B."_ _

__"You'll get it Scotty," Stiles grinned, clutching his test that had apparently made its way back from Mrs. Martin._ _

__"What'd you get?"_ _

__"Nmhninetyseven."Stiles slurred interntionally under is breath._ _

__"A what?"_ _

__"Mmmninetyseven," his voice got higher in pitch until Scott grabbed it out of his hands as he chuckled._ _

__"Dude what the hell! You weren't even here and you aced." Scott gave him a genuine grin, proud of his brother._ _

__"Maybe you should ask Lydia and Malia to study with you. That's how I did it." Stiles explained. The rest of the class was easy note taking on balancing chemical reactions. The school day rolled into lunch. It was at that point where Stiles started to feel the soreness and exhaustion really set in. His stomach started to hurt, and he knew it wasn't because he was hungry._ _

__"Stiles? Hey- you good?" Malia stopped him on the way to lunch._ _

__"Y-yeah, just thinking." Stiles smiled at her._ _

__"Maybe you should take a break from that." Malia held his hand, but Stiles reluctantly held it as he slipped his fingers away. Malia became nervous that she moved on him._ _

__"So-sorry, I was just uh.. gonna go to the bathroom." Stiles fumbled while talking. He's been doing that a lot lately._ _

__"Oh. Okay, yeah I'll see you."_ _

__Stiles hurried into the empty guys room, immediately freaking out about why he suddenly started to feel awful. Stiles looked at himself in the mirror, his face looked incredibly flushed. It took him seven minutes to stop from noticing every little imperfection on his body before he went out to lunch, but instead, he decided to hit up the library, where he could easy avoid having to talk to people. Stiles was in and out within 15 minutes and brought some borrowed textbooks with him. He planned on doing some research soon. The teen stopped at his locker and put his books down. Suddenly he felt that same drop, it was- something. Something was irking him, he knew it. But he couldn't go on the nurse again, that'd just be downright awkward to face her. Stiles was deep into thought when Scott snapped him out of it on the way to Economics._ _

__"Dude, where were you at lunch? We got worried."_ _

__"Oh," Stiles said softly, taking a seat behind Scott. "I went.." Stiles hesitated for a second, his eyes fidgeted and for the slightest moment the world shook, but then it returned to normal. "T-to the library," Stiles managed to finish. The class was just settling in as Coach Finstock walked in with his usual antics. Stiles tried to focus, but everything in front of his eyes were popping out at him in colors, his feet, while still planted on the ground, felt like he was moving. Soon, voices and words started to blur._ _

__"Scott- Scott- I feel really dizzy." Stiles whispered only loud enough so just his senses could hear it, meaning it._ _

__Scott turned around, glaring at Stiles who looked alarmingly pale, more than usual. "Stiles-" Scott got up in a rush._ _

__"McCall! Do you have a contribution to the class that is so- so profoundly thought provoking that it urged your brain to send messages to your legs to make them stand up?" Finstock taunted. Stiles braced himself, twisting his fingers around the metal of the chair. He was horrified of what the next moments would hold._ _

__"No Coach, Stiles doesn't feel good, I need to take him to the nurse." Stiles heard Scott say. Part of him wanted to kill him for bringing all the attention to him but the other part was grateful he cared. Stiles felt himself become "heavy" again and tried so hard to resist the urge of passing out._ _

__"Oh-ohohohokay yeah sure, what a good kid- nice, nice takin' care of your brother that's what I like to see, now get! Don't kill him McCall! Stilinski's precious cargo." The coach encouraged them. That feeling started to set in on Stiles forcefully now as he fingers wrapped around the metal rod of the desk against the wood._ _

__"Stiles?" The words slurred, the faces all melted and blurred into one long panoramic shot. It was like he was underwater- like he could hear them call out his name, but he couldn't physically reach them. Stiles fought against the waves, against the pounds and pounds of water trying to trap him, but it consumed him whole. A large thud proceeded, sending the room to panic as the witnesses the sight of the ill boy on the ground, blacked out._ _

__"Stiles!" Scott yelled, immediately helping aid his brother on his knees as kids crowded around._ _

__"Give him space, give him space!" Finstock ordered, shooing away their curious minds. "Someone go get the nurse! Not you Greenberg- someone else! Jesus." Coach said as he took Scott's sweatshirt that was handed to him and rolled it under Stiles' head. "Hey Stilinski, Stiles, wake up, wake up," The coach said nervously, "oh come on Stilinski please get up!"_ _

__Scott felt so guilty about not being able to do anything- he never got to talk to Stiles about things, he never got to help him. Stiles was shutting everyone out. But now, as Stiles lays calmly, his face up against the ground, Scott knows it's getting bad._ _

__Finally. The nurse had rushed in, as she whispered underneath her breathe just loud enough for a werewolf too hear, "Oh Stiles honey, again?" She came with an ice pack and a wheel chair for backup as Stiles started to come to once again._ _

__The first thing he saw was the ceiling tiles- next thing was the coach's comical grin. "Stilinski you good kid?" And it was at the moment where Stiles realized he had a severe case of insomnia. Stiles sat up, noticing the nurse as the other teenagers huddled around him again, poking and prodding him with concern as if he were a lab rat._ _

__"Okay- Just take it easy, slowly," the nurse reminded him. But Stiles relentlessly got up, embarrassed that he had just fainted in class._ _

__"Stiles sit down." Scott said, bracing his body._ _

__"No I'm fine," Stiles shrugged it off sheepishly._ _

__"Just sit down here honey," the nurse referred to the wheel chair, but Stiles had refused._ _

___I have two perfectly functioning legs why the hell would I sit there_. _ _

__But the last person Stiles needed to fight with was the nurse, and just before the world started getting darker and shaking, he took a seat in the wheel chair and allowed her to push him when his legs started to dwindle._ _

__"Stiles, stay with me okay sweetie? We're gonna call your dad, see if he can come pick you up." The sweet nurse's voice followed Stiles as he drifted in and out of a dizzy spell. Scott followed in behind with his Stiles' backpack, silently cursing to himself._ _

__\--_ _

__The rest of the day was a blur to Stiles, for he had spent the last two classes in the infirmary and "took a break." The nurse kept asking him questions, suddenly interested in his life. Stiles tried to not be rude, and tried to be semi-polite._ _

__"Stiles- don't you understand you need to rest?" The woman scolded him when he wouldn't lie down._ _

__"But seriously, I'm fine, look I'm not shaking- I'm not twitching," Stiles held up his hands to show her just how still they were._ _

__Derek picked him up today, for he wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone. It was starting to worry his pack, things were starting to get bad. The nurse had alerted his father who had been on site for a case, so Derek has volunteered as he walked into the nurse's to pick up the teenager. Stiles was given some medicine and was a bit foggy, but he wasn't doped up too badly. Derek picked up his backpack, noticing Scott's heartbeat that was just around the corner. It seemed to be beating faster, in fear or anxiety. Stiles on the other hand- he smelled wretched. His own anxiety and sickness created ill-fading fumes. "C'mon Stiles." Derek tried to help him up, bringing his arm up around his back but was pushed away by Stiles._ _

__"Derek I'm fine." Stiles grumbled quietly as the nurse watched. Derek sighed, trying not to flip out at him because he knew it wasn't really him saying that._ _

__They ended up sitting in the car in the parking lot for two minutes, in complete and utter silence. Derek's lips quivered, he wanted to say something, he needed to intervene. But he knew Stiles would just shut him down like everyone else._ _


	24. Sick. But I love you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow, *updates almost a year later*

As the school days started to get unfathomably longer for Stiles, he was getting quieter. The sheriff was caught up in work, and it made Stiles feel awful when he had to pull him away from it, so Derek has been staying over alot. He enjoyed the werewolf’s presence anyways. But it was a few days later, after passing out in Coach’s class, after feeling great and not having a mental breakdown when Stiles started to feel like shit again. It was the night of the dance that was meant to support Stiles but he couldn’t get himself to even want to go. 

“Don’t you have a dance to get ready for?” Derek asked Stiles, standing against the post of his door as he stared at Stiles who was relaxing on his bed.

“Not going.” 

“What do you mean you’re not going?” Derek furrowed his brows, knowing he had a date with Malia and he could even see Stiles’ dress shirt and tie ironed out, laying on his desk, 

“I mean I’m not freaking going.” Stiles was burying his head into his pillow, muffling the twenty-six swears he was whispering. It’s not that he didn’t want to go- it’s just that he couldn’t. His legs were not physically working. His brain couldn’t get the signals down to his legs in time.

“Stiles- the dance is for you. And Malia will be here soon anyways. Get up.” Derek brooded, threatening to pull Stiles out from bed by his legs. No reply from him. “What? Did something happen at school? Stiles, talk to me.”

Stiles turned onto his back, he was clenching his shirt near his abdomen. “Everything hurts.”

Derek sat on the bed, getting closer to examine the seventeen year old. “What exactly hurts?”

“Mostly stomach. But everything. Legs too.” Stiles was straining. He felt fire shooting up and down his muscles. “It’s not that I don’t want to go,” he winced as he tried to sit up, “it literally hurts to move Derek.” 

He watched the werewolf hold his hand out. Stiles didn’t hesitate letting Derek take his pain, especially when he watched the black lines through his veins form. Derek tried not to wince, but what he was feeling was an intense amount of burning tendrils and pins and needles striking his palm. Stiles was in so much pain. The young man watched, closing his eyes at one point because it was just such a relief to not feel like his was stepping on forty-five legos for once. But he pulled away after a minute because he could physically see the pain in Derek. 

“Thanks,,” he whispered. He looked at the time. 6:30. “Shit.” Stiles’ language filter is getting worse and worse everyday but Malia was going to get here in 15 minutes, and the dance starts in 30. “I have to figure out how to get pants on and how to tie a tie in 15 minutes.” He’s gotta shower, get dressed, do his hair, and then take his meds. Then, and only then, can they dance. Or maybe salsa, Malia seems like the type of girl who can alsa her way to anything. En fuego. 

“Well my only tip of advice is I’d go with a different color tie. Maybe not orange.”

“But orange is a Mets color.”

“Exactly.” Derek patted Stiles on the back with a grin before leaving him to change. 

But it was only when Stiles was out of the shower fresh, and when he finally got his pants on- surprisingly with only one leg in each pant leg this time, go Stiles- and when he finally got his tie after watching the youtube tutorial four times, was when he started to feel the burning feeling again. It was like a certain pressure and weakness around his joints that surrounded his muscles, and everytime he touched his warm skin, it stung a little. He took a glance in the mirror- gotta admit, he looked incredibly handsome all dressed up- but for a moment it was as if the mirror had a tv glitch when Stiles’ eyes started to blur out a bit of the world. His fingers wrapped around the edge of the dresser. Thoughts of worry escalated his heartrate when he realized Malia could be here any second. He felt the taste of iron on his tongue and suddenly felt very distant, he knew what was coming. “Derek.” was all Stiles could get out as his body stopped and just stood there. He felt the world around him go on, but he couldn’t move. 

The iron-y smell hit Derek as soon as he came into the room. The inevitable feeling of Derek’s own fingers trembling gave the next few minutes away. 

Suddenly, by the he had gotten there, Stiles knees had buckled as he was writhing, convulsing on the bedroom floor in his really, really nice outfit. He was so close to having an almost normal night. “Stiles- Stiles it’s okay! It’s okay bud, I got you- I got you,” Derek immediately sprung to action as he grabbed Stiles’ pillow and put it under his head. Stiles’ whole body was vibrating, he seizure was definitely more intense than his usual ones. His legs were jittering back and forth, and when of his arms were bent at his elbow, but lifted up in the air, and his lips were spasming simultaneously with his eyelids that were blinking. Soft shudders were let out until they became loud, prolonged groans when Derek counted the time. 34 seconds so far. “It’s okay, you’re okay,” Derek reassured the kid as Stiles started to let out horrifying, hiccuping noises. Derek jumped- getting Stiles on his side as he watched the accumulation of his saliva and even some vomited bile drip down his cheeks and onto the wrong. Unfortunately, Stiles’ eyes rolled back as he started to violently thrash his arms around him, hitting his forehead with his forearm repeatedly. When Derek lied down against his back and restrained his arms, he was met with unpleasant groans and retaliation. “Relax Stiles- Relax, it’s me Derek, I’m helping you- it’s okay.” He held his arms against Stiles’ chest. 

Derek froze when suddenly he could hear a third heart, and then the opening and closing of a door. 

Malia. 

“Hello? Stiles-” She called out, but the smell of misery hit her at the front door. This night was supposed to be their night. She had looked so gorgeous with her hair beautifully braided into a crown around her head, courtesy of Lydia of course, and a flattering semi-sheer floral dress, the type that was only sheer from above the chest. The click-click of her high heels were heard by Derek who was trying to calm down the seizing boy as she got closer. “Stiles- it’s me, Derek okay? It’s okay-” he repeated in a trance as Stiles started to hiccup again in attempt for breath. 

“Stiles?” She said in the hall, before finding him on the floor, Derek beside him. “Oh my god.” She whispered, unable to stare at him like this. His skin was an impish tone as his chest heaved up and down erratically, wheezing. “Oh baby..” she whispered, kneeling down next to him. 

“He’s been like this for 4 minutes exact so far.” Derek explained to her.

Stiles’ fingers were clenched tight in a fist as he let out sharp exhales when his body stopped shivering, and his arms were held close and tight to his chest. Finally, slowly, then all at once, he stopped, feeling his head bob to the side as his eyes close. 

“He’s not in pain?” Malia’s eyes were watering. Her mascara was too expensive for her eyes to water damn it. 

“I don’t know- he was to start with. He doesn’t even remember it when he wakes up.”

A few minutes later, after a whole ninety seconds of just pure silence and laying on the ground hearing Stiles’ breath, the teenager started to stir. He was flexing out his fingers, inching them out to the point where he could hear the knuckle crack. His groans increased as his face became exasperated and red. Stiles was on his side, fighting against his own arms and Derek who was restraining him. “Relax- Stles, Relax.” Derek drew a face of concern. “It’s been 5 and a half minutes.” Malia frowned, she knew what this means.

“Where is it?”

“Check the medicine cabinet for a small red box, inside is just tablets.”

Malia shot up, rummaging for the prescription drug, but she did not prevail. “Not here.”

Shit.

Stiles was gettting restless every few seconds, forcing the air out of his breath and nose.  
Malia came into the room, and went through all of Stiles’ things and his drawer, but the little red box hadn’t showed up. “Derek I can’t find it!”

“Look harder!” The brooding man started to worry when Stiles’ eyes were rolled up as if it were looking at the wall behind him, and saliva and bile stains covered his white dress shirt. He was groaning- saying unsensible things- unsensible words. When Stiles’ seizure reached the seven minute mark, Derek couldn’t hear the oxygen getting passed through his nostrils.

“Derek I found it.”

WIthout thinking, Derek grabbed the small tablet and administered it- and within a minute, Stiles was left frozen on the floor with red cheek as his chest heaved. “Stiles- hey… hey it’s okay- we’re here. You’re okay buddy.”

Stiles stared at his girlfriend sitting on the floor in her high heels and dress, and like a sharp pain in his heart- it hit him. “Shit th-the dance..” he mumbled, but no one could understand a thing. A few minutes went by of silence as Stiles caught up with his body. “The dance.” He said again. “I’m sorry.”

Malia sat against the bed, clutching his hand tightly. “I’m not really much of a dance person anyways. I’d rather spend time with you then dragging your sorry ass on the dance floor.” Malia smiled, sweetly chuckling. She had looked so beautiful tonight. And for her- he was grateful. 

After Stiles started to feel a little better, Derek put down some dinner for both of them to eat- since obviously their plans were a wee bit ruined. When Malia caught Stiles holding his stomach, she helped him stay on his feet as he threw up into the bathroom toilet, sweat dripping down his forehead with a fever. 

“I’m sorry, I’m gross.” Stiles whispered, letting Malia undo the buttons to his dress shirt. She pulled off the white top he had sweat through and helped him put on a new shirt. 

“You’re not gross baby.” Then, she helped him get into some comfortable sweats and tossed his clothes in the wash, “but I think you caught something, you’re sick.” Stiles swore he would deal with it, but he just ended up taking an advil to brush it off.

The sheriff came in that night from a late shift, finding Stiles and Malia- still dressed- cuddling on the couch as they watched a movie. Malia’s fingers were entangled in his hair, and Noah swore Stiles was just sleeping on top of the poor girl.


	25. 106 Degrees

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! so sorry for my short hiatus on this, but I have finally found a way to end the story. there will be 2 more chapters after this and everything in the end will make sense i promise. sorry its not beta'd, mainly because I write these at 2 in the morning. :D

“Stiles buddy- stay with us, okay? We’re here for you kiddo, it’s gonna be alright.”   
\--  
That night was accompanied with hours of vomiting, crying, and a scalding fever, served with a delirious Stiles Stilinski. Malia had stayed with him, helping him off the bathroom floor at 2 in the morning as the sheriff pours a cup of ginger-ale for the young man. His room reeked of bile after he threw up on his bed, the sheets thankfully are now in the washing machine in the dead of the night. Stiles had refused to go to the hospital, claiming it was just some sort of virus cruising through his system. Derek had been trying so hard not to focus on the scent of _sick_.

“Stiles-” Malia picked up half his weight, at least, as she helped him walk to the couch to sit down. It wasn’t that much, considering he’s lost so much of his muscle, but he was swaying with every step as dizziness threatened him. “Stiles, can you open your eyes for me?” Malia asked him as she kneeled down in front of him, clutching his right hand. 

“It hurts.” The young man scrunched his eyes, rolling onto his side as he clutched his chest.

“Baby- what hurts?” Malia rubbed her hand up and down his side before flicking his hair off his sticky, sweaty forehead. 

“Head. H-hurts.” Stiles said very quietly before he started to sweat profusely when his body was racketed with a fury of shudders. Malia grabbed a blanket and a spare shirt from his room as the Derek took his temperature. She started to pull at his shirt when she notices Stiles didn’t even flinch away, his body was scorching. _”I’m cold.”_

“Stiles, you have a fever of 106!” Malia huffed, a little louder than she should’ve, noticing how he grasped at his shirt a little tighter. Gasping, she apologized for lashing out and he allowed her to pull the damp-from-sweat shirt of his body. She pulled the blanket over his legs, but left his chest bare. Derek came over with a cold rag in a bowl of ice water, setting it onto his forehead. 

“Stiles.” Derek watched him close his eye lids as he tried to keep him up, an irony-smell plaguing his nostrils. “Stiles you gotta stay awake so we can help you,” Derek crouched down so he would be eye-level. “Can you follow my finger?” The werewolf asked when he saw Stiles was just staring out in blank. He could hear Stiles’ breathing change the slightest bit, as his eyes could barely keep up with his finger. He beckoned Malia for the flashlight on her phone as he shined it far away, but directed towards Stiles’ face. “His eyes are dilated- everything’s probably just a blur right now.”

“Stiles are you dizzy?” He heard his father ask him something, he also saw the phone pressed to his ear as he referred to Melissa. The poor kid was so incredibly out of it when he didn’t reply to Derek. A heaving chest threatened Stiles as he started to breathe a little heavier. Malia pressed another cold rag to his scorching chest, “what are you doing?,’ she asked the sheriff as he came off the phone with the nurse. 

“I’m calling 9-1-1.” Noah sighed, rubbing a hand over his tired, scrunched face.

Stiles grunted, “no hos… hospital.” Heaves accompanied every word as he strained. 

“Stiles you _need_ help,” Derek frowned, “they’re gonna get that to you.”

Stiles started to breathe even heavier, before it started to become rapid, “don’t wanna go.” Stiles whispered before he broke down into a sob full of panic as he crawled into a fetus-like position, “don’t let them take me!” The teenager was bawling his eyes out as he yelled, _“don’t call them!”_ He was upset, out of breath, and straight down out of his mind.

“I promise baby, they’re gonna help. They’re gonna make you feel better!” Malia was trying so hard not to cry at the sight of her boyfriend breaking down. Stiles rocked back and forth, clutching the back of his head as he suddenly stopped before contorting his face into a pain-stricken expression. 

“Malia grab his left arm and leg.” Derek ordered.

Furrowing her brows after she wiped a tear away, Malia questioned him, “what?”

“He’s gonna throw up, he needs to be sitting upright,” Derek said quickly as she followed him, helping the man lift Stiles’ light body off the couch and onto the floor, laying him against the wall with a pillow behind him. Stiles threw his head back, he’s never been in such of an amount of pain in his life until now, but he felt as if the external part of his body was going numb, considering that he couldn’t feel them touching his skin until his was midway in the air. Everything in front of him was a blur, but regardless, he persisted as he shot up onto his legs, leaning on the wall when he couldn’t keep his balance. Stiles looked around in a haze as Noah pressed down on his shoulder, “Stiles- you need to sit down.” 

“I need to…. Need to..” He strained as he let out a pained groan, persisting by making his way towards the bathroom. He had managed only a couple of steps before Noah caught his body when Stiles’ knees buckled above his two left feet. 

“Stiles what you need to do is to relax.” Noah said in a very calming, reassuring voice. 

He’s fucking delirious.

Basically dragging his son to the bathroom because god forbid Stiles let himself vomit on the floor (what’s up with a teenager having a sense of cleanliness anyways?), Noah held Stiles falling pretty much falling into the toilet as he retched the inside lining of his stomach out. At this point, Stiles was just puking out his saliva because he hasn’t been able to eat, let alone keep it down when he did. Stiles heaved, letting out gasps for air in between takes as Malia rubbed his back in a circular motion. He only looked at her once, and that one time was enough to show her the pain through his almost-bloodshot, spider-lashed-from-tears eyes.

“When’s the ambulance supposed to arrive…” Derek stood at the doorway of the bathroom, wanting to give them the space. Plus, he can’t stand watching Stiles in such a vulnerable state anymore. Derek has seen a lot of scary, numbing, mental-health threatening things in his life, but nothing that hurt him specifically like this. Not since the fire. 

“It’s a 15 minute drive from here- okay, okay buddy, it’s okay..” the sheriff winced when he was interrupted by more of Stiles’ gagging. “15 minutes means about 10 minutes for an ambulance.” So far it’s been about maybe 5 minutes since he called. Malia brushed the hairs that stuck to his forehead off again. It’s official. The teen could finally claim he was capable of having the talent to regurgitate his intestines out. Stiles coughed, throwing out his spit as his chest and lungs started to give out. 

“I can’t- I can’t-,” Stiles tried to breathe, but he couldn’t force his lungs to expand anymore. His throat was closing up like there was cotton in it, and his eyes had already let go of a tsunami that threatened his manhood. He collapsed into his father’s grip once again when Noah held him close on the bathroom floor, Stiles’ back up against his chest. 

“Stiles- you gotta breathe kiddo, you gotta slow down, okay?” Noah whispered as he knew the only thing he could do was to reassure him once again. Things were really starting to repeat here. “You’re fine, you’re doing okay. You see? It’s still there,” the sheriff held Stiles’ hand over his heart, feeling the evidential thumping. 

_He thought he was dying._

Suddenly, a certain lingering stench had hit the two werewolves smack dab in the face. 

Suddenly, like an unwanted phone call, or a dreaded appointment, Stiles had come face to face with the most threatening force of nature. Himself.

Suddenly, the boy stopped, and so did everything else around him. Noah held him close to his body, embracing his child as his honey-brown eyes were starting to look upwards and his hands clenched. His body went rigid as his muscles tensed up. 

“Stiles- no, no, no it’s okay buddy, relax- relax.” The sheriff’s breath hitched, because he too knew what it meant now. He now knew what the sudden stopping of time meant for Stiles. He knew what a sudden moment of him not talking meant. It was just really not the right time, or place, for this- too many opportunities to hit his head on a corner of the sink cabinet or the shower, or to chip a tooth against the bath tile.   
Like as how John Green once wrote about falling in love the same way you fall asleep, Stiles succumbs to his unfortunately misguided brain. Slowly, then all at once. 

“Stiles!” Malia yelled out, starting to cry as she watched her boyfriend convulse. One more to add to list of times Stiles has literally almost died. 

Noah held his boy in his arms, allowing for the vibrations that coursed through Stiles, seep into him. He had no other choice, he couldn’t risk Stiles hitting his head again or injuring himself further. An invisible taser shocked Stiles as his entire body shook simultaneously rather jerking. His head was thrown back roughly against the sheriff’s shoulder, who couldn’t help _but cry_. Noah bit his tongue and did everything in his will power to stay strong as he physically felt his son suffer. Small grunts and groans were let out as he watched the teen’s right hand attempt to clutch at his own chest. The way Stiles’ muscles and joints locked scared the hell out of his father. 

“Oh my god, get him some medicine or something or- we have to do something!” Malia was officially freaking the fuck out. She had every right to. 

“We can’t. They’re too strong, and if he takes more than one dosage within 48 hours, it could severely drop his heart rate, and he’s in no condition to fight that off. We just-” then sheriff’s voice _fucking broke_ , “we just let him ride this one out. He’s a strong kid.” The sheriff took a deep breath. “Right Stiles? It’s okay- we’re here for you okay kiddo? Me, Malia, Derek. It’s gonna be okay.” Truth be told, the sheriff didn’t know whether Stiles could hear him or not, but the doctors told him that sometimes, even if he isn’t aware, that Stiles might be able to hear him towards the end of an episode, and it’s reassuring to hear those calming words. 

Derek scowled, gritting his teeth as he punched at the wall he was pacing against. _Fuck!_ He just wanted to scream so loud, he wanted to ask God up there, “why? Why God? You chose the one human I can remotely stand to destroy. Why’d you choose him- he’s still a kid! Why’d you fucking choose Stiles!” 

Shit.

“How long has it been..” Noah asked Malia who watched Stiles’ long fingers bend and tremble into fists as he pulled his forearms into his chest. 

“Almost four.” She whispered. She was a mess. He was a mess. Derek was a mess. Everything was just a shitty mess.

But like a prayer answered from the guy up there, if there really was one, which the sheriff can’t tell you that because it’s been awhile since their family church days, but it had finally stopped. The boy left out small huffs and his body fell limp, allowing his lips to trill before his brain cooled off and was attacked by an attempt to redeem back his lost oxygen.   
“Oh thank god..” Noah whispered as he rubbed circles on his son’s chest, “Stiles kiddo, it’s okay. It’s okay, we’re here. Just breathe, in and out.”

Derek and Malia carefully slid the boy off his father’s sore body, and carried him out to the hallway to rest him on the ground. They watched Stiles’ eyes follow blank spaces on the ceiling as he started to relax.

But by the time the paramedics had come again, Stiles didn’t even reach full consciousness before he felt his body go rigid again.


	26. Hydro-what-alus?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wowzers! Guess who's back? Anyways I extremely apologize if you have been left on read by me, but fear not! Your questions will soon be answered :)

Like many other nights prior, Stiles opened his eyes to a blurry, but somewhat dark world. Everything fucking ached, and everything hurt.

“Stiles?” A voice whispered. 

Stiles blinked into darkness once again, only for the light to suck him back in because it was too addicting. He woke up an hour later.

“Stiles..” he recognized it now. It was raspy, it was tired. The sheriff. 

His eyes stung, his fingers numb. His breathing was shallow he concluded as he felt the oxygen tube running through his nostrils and around his ears. The place were they stuck the IV in was bound to bruise once again, as had the others. His neck was stiff, concluding that he either just had a seizure or he’s been out for a while. Stiles turned to look at the blurry hues that was his father, despite all the white spots he was seeing, Noah’s blue eyes made their way through the haze. He watched the forms move upwards, and press against the wall as it made noise. His father was calling the nurses’ station to let them know Stiles woke up. 

“Hey kiddo..” Sheriff Stilinski whispered, remembering the nurses told him to be very quiet when speaking to his son. Something about too much stimuli for his brain to handle at any given point would case mass mayhem. The father brushed Stiles’ hair off his forehead. 

“Am I in the hospital?” Stiles whispered back, confusion racking his brain.

The sheriff nodded his head, “you’ve been out for three days.”

“Three days?” Stiles contorted his face as he furrowed his brow. Nothing was making sense at this point, and he felt high for some reason considering he probably didn’t realize he was having drugs pushed into is system. 

“It’s okay kiddo.” Noah thought back to just a little over 72 hours ago. The feeling of his one and only son convulsing in his own arms, drooling on his chest and unable to breathe, would haunt him forever. He’s been up for the last 48 hours at least, waiting for him to be the first thing Stiles sees when he wakes up. Its at that moment when the sheriff, who truly was never a religious guy either, prayed to God. The room was dark because it was currently 2 in the morning when the sheriff warned Stiles, “I’m just gonna turn the lights on so watch your eyes, son.” He watched the teenager squeeze his eyes shut and lightly wince when they stung as they welcomed him back before helping Stiles position himself more comfortably. There were pads in between the bed and the mattress to prevent him from hurting himself should he had an episode. 

“Where’s mom?” Stiles asked quietly. Two more names. He tried to remember two more names, but he couldn’t think. “Wolf?”

Noah froze. He stammered, “she’s can’t be here Stiles, but don’t worry about it okay?” He gave him a warm smile. “Derek and Malia have been in the waiting room all night, Scott, Lydia, Liam, and Mason too…” He figured that’s what he meant by _wolf_ “Does anything hurt?”

“My head.” Stiles’ head was pounding like nothing else, and he wasn’t up for talking much either. 

Noah analyzed Stiles quickly before Melissa and the Doctor Dunbar had walked. It works out to your advantage when you’re friends are in the medical field, but as much as it’s a blessing in disguise, it’s just as much of a curse. 

“Stiles, welcome back.” Doctor Dunbar smiled as Melissa changed the IV drip. “How are you feeling?”

“Just dandy.” Stiles smiled back groggily. No reason he had to be a sourpuss towards everything and everyone. 

“Clearly you haven’t lost your sense of humor,” Dunbar chuckled before proceeding to shed some light on Stiles’ condition, telling him how he went into status epilepticus after suffering from two seizures at home, and then one in the ambulance and one upon arrival. “We couldn’t control the seizures, so we sedated you into a medically-induced coma, because with each one, your brain was being deprived of oxygen and killing cells. So, we ran a couple of tests and an MRI while you were unconscious to find out what was going on, because we were concerned about the dementia causing your brain to deteriorate even faster.” Stiles took in all the information so far, half-forgetting he even had dementia. The man continued as he pulled out some MRI images, “turns out, you are suffering from hydrocephalus, which actually has been found numerous times in FTD patients.” 

“What is that? Like water in my brain?” Stiles got a little scared as he felt his father put his hand on his shoulder.

“It’s when there’s an abnormal surge of water and cerebral spinal fluid in the cavities of the brain. It’s been slowly building up over the last few weeks, and that’s why maybe you’ve felt even more discoordinated and unbalanced, dizzy, and confused. It prolonged the seizures. You’re gonna feel that way until the issue is resolved.”

“So what happens now?” The sheriff asked. Of course, he was already filled in, but Stiles wasn’t and they just wanted to reiterate.

Melissa sighed, “well, due to the circumstances, the only option left for Stiles is a brain surgery to place in a shunt, that will drain the excess fluid and rid of his symptoms.”

Stiles’ face contorted, “I’m not- I can’t do that-” The teen was appalled they had even suggested. 

“Stiles, it’s minimally invasive, meaning it’s less painful for you to endure.” Dunbar advocated.

“What are the effects of the surgery?”

The doctor gave him a more elaborate description of the procedure, before warning him.“Well with any surgery really, there’s always risks and complications, we can’t assure you that the inevitable won’t happen, but he’d have the best team of doctors and surgeons California can provide.” He looked to Stiles, who looked as if he were about to throw up. He listened as the doctor introduced a young man, maybe early 30s, wearing a surgeon cap. Apparently, he’s the best neurosurgeon in Southern California.“O-of course, you can decline the surgery, but we strongly suggest it, or else Stiles- you can risk death because of prolonging seizures.”

Stiles didn’t want to talk about it anymore. He didn’t want to talk about seizures or fucking dementia or surgery or dying anymore. _He didn’t care_. It had already swallowed him whole, along with his life and friends and family. He couldn’t bare the thought of burdening his lonely, depressed father anymore, and he can’t take anymore IVs. Part of him thinks of giving up, but another part of him wants to kick his own ass. He wants to beat it, wants to be that rare case and survive, but life has come back to bite him in the ass. 

Stiles wouldn’t talk for the rest of the day. 

Eventually, he get tired of saying no. He got tired of having to choose over death, dementia & seizures, or cracking his skull open. Stiles buried his head deeper into his pillow everytime his father tried to even speak to him.

“Son you’re being incredibly irrational right now.” His voice whispered.

“Well if a guy who even hasn’t probably gone through a midlife crisis yet, or even handled having children wants to literally poke a hole in head your and play with your brain, then maybe _you’d_ irrational be too.” His voice was grim, cracking every few words before he spit out with discontent. The sheriff’s heart raced whenever Stiles’ messed up when speaking.

Noah’s voice got smaller, looking around Stiles’ hand. They’re both sleep deprived, frustrated, and miserable, but they are suffering together, and most importantly- pushing through together. “Look kiddo, I know- things are rough. And the surgery isn’t what you want, but it’s looking like our best option.” The older man’s voice was raw that night, clenching his son’s hand even tighter as he recalled the other day’s fiasco, “Stiles- what happened that night? Scared the hell out me. I didn’t know whether you were going to pull out or not, and I.. I thought I was gonna lose you.” Stiles was on his left side, his back facing his father because he couldn’t allow his old man to watch him cry, but the sudden incaving and puffing of his chest gave him away. He felt his father’s hand grasp his even tighter, and if the sheriff really wanted to, he could break a bone. “No- no it’s okay kiddo, we’re gonna figure it out. We always figure it out Stiles. You’re gonna be okay.”

“I’ll do it. Dad. If it’s you want, what- if it’s what you- you want.” Stiles sniffled in between with a hushed voice, “I’ll do it.”

The sheriff sighed, “it’s your choice Stiles. I mean without it-it only gets worse from here. But you’re an adult. It’s your decision.”

“It’ll make.. It’ll make me feel.. Better. Make me feel..” Stiles’ voiced droned out as the sleeping meds kicked in one last time. Melissa had upped a dose knowing that after the news and the condition of his brain, he wouldn’t be sleeping much. 

Noah slipped his hand out of his son’s grasp, his fingers clenched around the sheriff’s tighter than he thought. Getting up to stretch his muscles again, Noah flipped Stiles onto his back so he could sleep more comfortably. He had noticed the silver bracelet that Malia had bought for him, it bringing a smile to his face knowing he wore it. He listened to the silence of the room being interrupted by Stiles who stirred for a second, taking a deep breath before shifting again. He pulled up the thin sheets and moved his arm that was positioned awkwardly. Noah frowned at his son, and it wasn’t even his fault. 

At this rate, his father was ready for anything. He knows Stiles won’t have much time if the disease progresses, maybe a couple of years tops before he drives himself to the brink of death. It’s just so incredibly rough, knowing he’ll never grow up, go to college, start a family. It just really, fucking sucked.

Sleep never came to the sheriff, as he start to pick up on some heavy breathing from his son. The monitors all seemed fine as he eyed the wires that protruded from his chet and connected to the machines, following every breathing move. The sheriff slightly shook Stiles on the arm. “Stiles,” he whispered, “Stiles kiddo are you okay?” He watched Stiles’ eyes blink open in confusion. “Hey- hey, hey– Stiles,” his father jumped as he watched his since lean towards him on his side gradually as he stared up, “Stiles son, look at me– look at me okay?” The sheriff leveled with his honey brown eyes, “I know you’re in there son, look at my eyes kiddo.” It’s when Stiles’ eyelashes flutter towards the ceiling, and his eyes roll back when Noah’s first instinct is to grab the phone and alert the nurses’ station. He informed the staff as he watched his only son convulse yet again, against the blue pads barricading the railing of the hospital bed. 

“Son it’s gonna be okay- you’re gonna be okay,” Noah was out of excuses. Stiles rolled onto his sides as his jaw spasmed up and down. His arms twitched sporadically against his chest as chest heaved in sync with the buckling of his legs. “It’s okay,–” the sheriff’s voice broke, a sudden choking tear racking his voice, “you’re gonna be okay-” he comforted as he watched the medical staff barge in as if they were the SWAT. 

Noah gave them the stats, watching them put an oxygen mask over his boy who was struggling to get oxygen into his system, choking noises jumping out of his vocal cords. The nurses were re-attaching the wires onto his chest to monitor his breathing as Stiles twitches violently. The seizure had only lasted for a couple minutes, but for every second of it, it was violently agonizing, and hard to watch nevertheless go through. 

And when Stiles stopped, all at once, the only thing heard within the room was crying. Pure, heartbreaking sobbing. 

“Everybody back up! Hands off!” Doctor Dunbar ordered. “Too many voices and actions will confuse him.” He watched as everyone backed off from the poor kid, who lay on the bed curled up in a fetal position. His long fingers had wrapped themselves around his head as he whimpered unaudibly. “Stiles..” Dunbar calmly said, “I need to know if anything hurts– tell your dad, he’s right here.” 

A small sob broke Stiles’ speech, “hurts.. So bad. Bad.”

“What hurts son?” Noah asked concerned. 

“Head. _It hurts_.” Stiles cried. 

He didn’t know if he was just confused or whining at this point. Every bone in his body wanted to beat himself up for being so… weak. Suddenly, he felt an overwhelming urge to vomit, as if he were going a hundred miles an hour on the ride at Six Flags that Scott made him ride when they were fourteen. His head was more than pounding, it felt as if he were being electrocuted repeatedly, and suddenly, he couldn’t see. Dunbar rushed to the boy, flashing the light in Stiles’ eyes as he received no reaction, “Stiles? Can you tell me where you are right now?” No answer as the older man watched Stiles’ muscles fall limp. 

The doctor’s expression turned into one of extreme concern, “all right we need to prep for emergency surgery. Let’s get an OR prepped and Melissa, get Oliver flown over here STAT.”

The sheriff almost stopped breathing, “What’s going on?” he asked with an angry voice and an exasperated face. 

The doctor had no time to lose, but regardless, he stopped. “Stiles needs to have the surgery immediately,” he stopped as he sighed uncomfortably, “or else he’s going to die.”


End file.
